Pawn, Knight, Queen
by jtav
Summary: Months after being crippled on the Suicide Mission, Miranda returns to Omega to help her old mentor get the station under control. Petrovsky could be just what she needs and together they could do the impossible-change Omega.
1. Chapter 1

_This story is AU. Every up to the Suicide Mission is canon, but things diverge from there. Miranda's infertility has been retconned. While I won't give specific warnings for fear of spoilers, this story earns it's M for both (consensual) sex and violence. On a lighter note, longtime readers will notice a few nods to Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. The stories aren't in continuity-Matt would kill this Shep._

* * *

The Illusive Man took a long drag on his cigarette. "I understand your new command center is operational."

Oleg clasped his hands behind his back. Fatigue settled over him like poorly-fitted armor, and he longed for nothing more than to sleep for a week, but his duties must be attended to. "Yes. Whatever Ms. T'Loak's faults, Afterlife held some of the best monitoring and security software in the Terminus. And very defensible, should it come to that. I'm confident that we'll soon begin to make strides in pacifying the population."

"Yes, I'm aware of the unrest you're facing. Don't worry, Oleg. You'll find a way. Holding Omega is critical to our research and to keeping us mobile in this sector. I'm confident you'll do whatever's necessary to achieve our goals." He frowned slightly, though his pleasant tone didn't change. "Well, perhaps not everything."

Oleg grimaced. This was an old argument and not one he was particularly interested in having at the moment. "The implants are still new and unproven. With all due respect, sir, I must continue to decline them on behalf of my men." There were rumors that the implants did more than improve reflexes and healing ability, that they implanted knowledge in the recipients mind and altered their very thoughts. Overblown nonsense, of course, but he preferred to leave headlong charges into the unknown to Kai Leng. "Call me old-fashioned."

"Yes, well, you aren't the only one. Miranda also refused them."

"Miranda?" The room, already chilly from the need to conserve power, grew colder until it reminded him of the Siberian wastes Tolstoy and Dostoevsky had so thoroughly described. "She is well, then?"

The Illusive Man snuffed out his cigarette as his frown deepened. "She's recovered from her injuries, but the experience beyond the relay left her shaken. Melancholy."

"Is there anything I can do?" Oleg barely resisted the urge to pace. Miranda had been impaled by a piece of falling debris during her escape from the Collector base. It would've killed anyone else, and she had been hospitalized for months. Oleg had begged for a furlough so he could visit her, but the Illusive Man had insisted that humanity needed him to continue eliminating pirate anchorages. And then there had been that business with the adjutants, and he had truly had no time.

"As a matter of fact, there is. Project Zephyr isn't moving as quickly as I'd like. I've assigned Miranda to the science team."

"She's coming here?" After all the months of blood and death, of having to put down a rebellion after rebellion from the very people who should have welcomed the order he had brought. To have something to look forward to again…

"The Reapers will be here soon. We're going to need those shock troops." The Illusive Man swirled his shot glass. "And who knows? Perhaps the company of an old friend is what Miranda needs to restore her faith." And with that, the QEC went dark.

"Friend," he murmured to himself. The Illusive Man had always been observant; it was one of the reasons Oleg had chosen to follow his vision of the world. He would have known that Oleg and Miranda had been far more than friends after she came to Cerberus. The second of two women he had ever truly lost his head over. He had seen her several times in the intervening years, and every time she was as beautiful and commanding as any queen from legend, and every time a small part of him wanted to throw himself at her feet. A very small part of him, true—as the Reaper threat grew more apparent, chivalry and courtly love and simple foolish lust were drowned out by more practical concerns.

He had come here on business nearly twenty years ago. His aide at the time, a British fellow whose name he didn't even remember, had shown up half-drunk on the arm of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Pale, with no signs of the hard life so sadly common among the station's residents. Her hair had cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall. Perhaps, if that had been all, he would have recovered himself. But her eyes had been an uncommon shade halfway between blue and gray, the sort that simply didn't occur without dyes anymore. Her gaze had been shrewd and appraising, but there had been amusement there too. Carefully veiled and guarded, as if she had wanted to laugh, but dared not. For the first time since his wife's death, lust had spiraled through him wild and uncontrolled.

And then she had stolen his wallet. He had chased her over half the station trying to get it back. And then…

_A dead end. He had her now. She turned to him, no fear in those blue eyes. "Most people aren't so tenacious about getting their wallet back. But most people aren't carrying around very strange and encrypted ID cards. I wonder, if I spent a few days trying to break it, who would you really be?"_

_"That's not your concern."_

_"Oh, I rather think it is… Cerberus." She held his wallet up and out of his grasp as she took a step toward him. "I know your type. Masters of the universe, like my father."_

_Only years of discipline prevented him from gaping at her. "What makes you think I'm Cerberus?"_

_"The way you stand, the way you carry yourself. Military. Real military, not what passes for it out here. And your taste in clothes is far too good for most merc captains. You're human. Add in the ID, and it's simple, really." Another step forward. "What do I have to do to join?"_

_"Cerberus, and I'm most assuredly not Cerberus, doesn't just hand out memberships like a garden club. Pickpocketing and confidence games will make you more money, in any case."_

_"Money? You think this is about money?" She laughed, a bitter, broken, humorless laugh that he had heard often enough in the field, but sounded unnatural coming from the beautiful, poised creature before him. "My father isn't a kind man, but he's very rich and influential. We had… differences of opinion. I left. He's still sending mercenaries after me. I need a protector. And Cerberus is powerful enough to frighten even Henry Lawson."_

_Henry Lawson? He knew that name. The Wizard of Brisbane who had grown children like cabbages in an attempt to create perfection. Only one daughter had survived to adolescence, and she was rumored to be smarter, faster, and stronger than even a gene-modded soldier. "You're Miranda Lawson?"_

_"The same. You can't tell me Cerberus wouldn't be interested in my abilities." She tossed him the wallet. "This was child's play."_

_She was right. Cerberus embodied the best in humanity. And here, if she was everything she was rumored to be, was the best of humanity. "I would have to try you out, make sure you could be of use to us."_

_"Try me out?" The same, broken bitter laugh. "But of course men must try me out." Another step forward. He could see her eyes more clearly now. And beneath the irony, there was something cold and dead. He saw it in the mirror every Armistice Day. Her hands ran over his chest. "I could be good for Cerberus. And for you."_

_He froze. A better man wouldn't have even been tempted. But he… he allowed himself to think of it. It would be the simplest thing in the world to take her back to his hotel and have his fill of her. He could even make sure she enjoyed it._

_But no. He wasn't a monster. He was a Cerberus officer. And Cerberus officers did not prey on women half their age. They did not take advantage of the desperate. "Oh no, my dear. It's work that Cerberus will want from you, day after day and year after year. Not a quick roll in the sheets."_

"The car's ready, sir. We can leave for the Gozu district whenever you want."

Speaking of more practical concerns… "I'll be right there, Matthews."

The streets around the command center and Omega Control had long since been emptied of civilians, both for the safety of his men and that of the civilians themselves. The ground was clean, free from the muck and mire that was so omnipresent every time he had come here as a visitor. No scent of refugees assaulted his nostrils. Posters adorned with the Cerberus logo replaced advertisements for flesh shows. No desperate souls begging for food or offering their bodies. Here at least, there was progress.

And yet… In the distance, Oleg could see the force fields separating the Green Zone from the Gozu District, the energy writhing and pulsing like fire. One of the many gifts their research at Avernus had granted. They could vaporize flesh or metal on contact. Ideal for stopping even an army of husks. And soon, perhaps, victory would be his and he could put fields to their intended purpose.

_Are you so sure of that? "The guerrilla wins if he does not lose. The conventional army loses if it does not win." And the Talons are not yet losing._

Oleg shook his head. He would win. The heroic guerrilla who finally drove the occupier from his home was a romantic figure, but history was littered with his failures. The Taiping Rebellion. The Philippine-American War. Omega would be another triumph for the conventional army. Humanity would not accept his failure.

"Ready, sir?" Matthews was his usual sober, unsmiling self, but today he seemed even more grim than usual, his brows knitted together and his shoulders hunched with tension.

"Yes, Corporal," Oleg said as he approached the car. It had once been an ordinary Tennokot—a fast, maneuverable work of art, the sort of car he and Miranda had both loved for their own reasons, but the war had changed it too. Oleg entered the passenger side door. "Engage the shields."

"Aye, aye." Matthews pressed a button on the dashboard, and the car was wreathed in an orange glow. Not only would it allow them to pass through the force field unharmed, it would allow the car to shrug off a hit from anything less powerful than a Cain. Unfortunately, certain compromises had to be made to prevent the eezo core from being prematurely wrecked, and they crawled along at a pathetic sixty kilometers an hour.

It gave Oleg plenty of time to confirm that the progress was limited to the Green Zone. Here the streets were narrow and twisting, choked with both filth and people. The shields blotted out sound, but Oleg watched as they pantomimed life. Vendors hawked what was left of their goods while a prostitute hawked herself. Oleg stared at her as they passed. The clothing had been of good quality once upon a time, a bright brilliant red, but now it was stained with Omega's ever present brown. Her skin was pale and stark contrast to her dirty dark hair and…

"Is something wrong, General?"

Oleg shook his head. "Merely remembering. I received a call from the Illusive Man. Miranda Lawson will be taking over as head of the science division."

"So she's finally out of the hospital? I don't care what kind of superior healing she's supposed to have, it was a miracle she survived. I've seen men hit with heavy weapons that had smaller holes in them."

"Yes, she recovered." Matthews had been the last person to serve under Miranda; here was a chance for decent intel, unfiltered by official channels. "The Illusive Man mentioned that she was melancholy. Was it because of her injuries?"

Matthews didn't answer for almost a minute. "I shouldn't gossip."

Cold swept over Oleg. "Don't think of it as gossip. We'll be working very closely with Operative Lawson. If there's something wrong, I need to know so that we can accommodate her to the best of our abilities."

Matthews sighed. "The lower decks rumor was that she and Commander Shepard were involved. I never saw anything definite, but they both seemed a lot more chipper when the other one was around, and Chambers swore she saw both of them coming out of the elevator with their uniforms mussed."

"And now Shepard is in an Alliance prison. I suppose that would upset anyone." Oleg closed his eyes and crushed the ember of jealousy that threatened to rise up. He had followed Shepard's career the way he might have that of anyone who had the potential to be either ally or enemy. His actions at Elysium had been heroic and completing the mission to eliminate the Collector threat and secure their base without any casualties had been nothing short of inspired. He was a man ruthlessly committed to the mission. A good match for Miranda if someone had forced Oleg to say so.

"Well, it's not just that. When he got back from Arathot, the first thing he did was go to her office. I heard shouting through the door. Shepard left a few minutes later, and Lawson took dinner in her office that night. Neither of them ever said anything, but I don't think they said more than three words to each other for the rest of the mission. He definitely didn't visit her in medbay."

A romantic disappointment then, and a serious one if Miranda had allowed it to affect her. Stupid boy to let her slip through his fingers.

The car stopped. Outpost Theta was their headquarters in the Gozu District and critical to maintaining what control they could over the hotbed of Talon activity. Captain Prescott was waiting on him. His dark hair was buzzed close his face, and his features were sharp and pointed, giving him a vaguely ratlike appearance "A pleasure to see you, General."

"Likewise, Captain." They shook hands and hurried inside. Talon snipers were bold, and Outpost Epsilon had lost two men inside their own perimeter a week earlier. "What did you want to tell me?"

"We can't sustain many more losses like we took in the last raid. Down over thirty percent thanks to those Talon cuttlebones. If I ever get my hands on that turian bitch…"

"I read the casualty reports. Kandros' continued attacks are infuriating, but it's our responsibility to realize what gaps in our own strategy are permitting them."

"Of course," he repeated with all the enthusiasm of a schoolboy rattling off Latin conjugations. "But we aren't the only ones the Talons managed to piss off. An old friend in Eclipse tells me that they're willing to sell a couple of thousand LOKI mechs to us cheap as long as we use them against the Talons."

Eclipse. They had their hands in every slaving operation from here to Ilium. He had led campaign after campaign in an attempt to shatter them only to find that they had the survivability of cockroaches. "No. The VIs are too simplistic."

Prescott shrugged. "For some things, but not for sentry duty and civilian containment. Every shot the Talons take at a mech is a shot that they aren't taking at us."

War made for such strange, disgusting bedfellows. "I'll have some of the techs examine the VI core. If they can be turned into something useful—"

"Money first," said a woman's voice from somewhere nearby.

"I promise I'll pay. But the captain and the general are right next door. I don't want to be peeling potatoes for the next month. Let's just get it over with. I promise I'm good for it."

"I can't spend promises."

Oleg raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps you had best remind your subordinates that fraternization on base is strictly prohibited. And that the walls are very thin."

Prescott turned a deep red. "Excuse me while I go kill that son of a bitch."

"Don't bother. We're short on manpower, remember? I'll remind our Romeo of his responsibilities as a member of Cerberus. You make arrangements for getting one of those Vis sent over here."

The shouting grew louder as he approached the enlisted barracks. "No. Either you pay me or I leave right now."

"No, please! I can pay you half now, see?" A credit chit clattered on a hard surface. "I've been on this station three goddamn months. Between Petrovsky and the Talons, you're the first chance I've had to have any fun. If he wasn't such a slave driver—"

Never let it be said that he didn't know how to make an entrance. He opened the door. A private of no more than nineteen stood with his trousers around his ankles. His face was as red as Prescott's and it brought his freckles into sharp relief. His eyes went wide when he saw Petrovsky. "Sir." He saluted hastily.

"At ease. No need to make yourself look more ridiculous than you already have. Get dressed and report to Captain Prescott."

The private did up his trousers and scrambled out of the room, leaving Oleg along with the prostitute. He realized with a start that she was the same woman he had seen earlier. Up close, he could see the sharp lines of her jaw and the darkness of her eyes. She was pretty in a vague, generic way. Exactly the sort of woman a sexually-frustrated private would gravitate toward. "You shouldn't be here. You could have been shot on sight."

"He asked me to come," she said, bitterness creeping into her voice the way ivy crept up a wall. "Promised me more money than he had."

"I heard." This was the most difficult part of his job. Such behavior couldn't be encouraged, lest he find himself commanding an undisciplined mob that thought with the wrong head or some Talon used the same trick to infiltrate the outpost. "As it is, I'm going to fine you one point on your ration card. Submit your papers to the clerk on the way out."

"For doing what one of your soldiers asked me to?"

"The rules are quite clearly posted throughout the district. They are for your protection."

"My protection?" She trembled now, not even bothering to disguise the bitterness. "It's because of your protection that I'm doing this. Had a job as a dancer at Afterlife. I got by, and I never went with customers unless I wanted to. But you closed that up and now I've got to do this. So fuck your protection!"

"We all have to make sacrifices." Oleg reached for her to put a restraining hand on her shoulder.

She jerked away. "I don't see you making any. I do what I have to do to survive."

_I do what I have to do to survive._ Nothing ever really changed here, did it? All that ever changed was the names. His hands dropped to his sides. "Get out of here."

"Are you all right, sir?" Matthews asked when he returned to the car. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"In a manner of speaking. Tell Logistics we're increasing rations for the Gozu District by one point for the next week. A recognition of all their sacrifices."

Matthews smiled brightly. "Very generous of you, sir."

"No, not generous," Oleg said with a sad smile. "I was merely remembering."


	2. Chapter 2

A dull ache crept its way up Miranda's right leg. She had known pain before—a twisted ankle or broken arm—but it had never been the constant presence that it was now. It slithered beneath the surface, sometimes little more than an irritant and sometimes a sharp lance of agony, but it was always there. Marking her. The brace rubbed against her and sweat pooled against her skin. She sighed. Another hour and she would hopefully be ensconced in her new quarters. She could be rid of her modern ball and chain and take a nice warm bath.

"You look tired," Kelly said softly, her syrupy sweet voice somehow more irritating than the brace. "Are you sure you don't want to take a nap before we land? Or I can get the Andrex?"

"God, no." She hated the Andrex. It dulled the pain, but it dulled everything else as well. Her mind felt as if it had been swathed in cotton. Food tasted strange. And everything was blurry. "I haven't seen General Petrovsky in person for three years. I'm not spending our reunion high as a kite." He'd seen her far worse, but dignity still counted for something.

"There's no shame in asking for help. I realize living with a disability can be difficult, but pretending nothing's wrong is counterproductive. "

Miranda held up a hand. "Spare me the motivational speeches. You're my personal assistant, not my therapist."

Kelly cracked a smile. "I guess I was laying it on a bit thick. But you saved my life! If you hadn't escorted us back, we'd all be dead. Helping was the least I can do." She shivered. "Those pods were so dark."

"I did nothing more than my duty." John had ordered her to escort the rest of the crew back while he pressed on. The assignment had wounded her pride. The crew was expendable. It was better for them to live than not, of course, but rescuing them was incidental to stopping the Collectors and saving millions more lives. She had never feared death, but surely she had a responsibility to die where and when it would do the most good?

But John had ordered her, and Miranda had been determined to bring all of Lazarus Cell home. After Aratoht, he had said that she couldn't help him, that all her connections, her carefully cultivated contacts throughout every level of the Alliance, were trash. It would be best if they called their affair off. Clearly there was no future here. Her protestations that the Alliance would let go after a few months because no one really wanted the Hero of Elysium in jail fell on deaf ears. It didn't matter that Miranda knew a dozen people who might have at least allowed his cage to be gilded. As soon as the mission was over, he would turn himself in. He was done with Cerberus. And her.

So she had been determined to show him exactly how much help she could be. The falling debris had been a cosmic joke.

She'd been unconscious for three days and hospitalized for three months. The doctors were unanimous; Henry's genetic enhancements had saved her life, and even then she was lucky not to be paralyzed. But she would never walk unaided again. The scars on her face and body would be permanent. She was fitted with orthotics and given a cane. They sent her to pain management classes. It was the last part that was especially galling. Pain was something to be eliminated, not managed.

And then the Illusive Man had offered her a miracle. Studies at the Collector base were already paying dividends. Project Phantom had prototyped implants that would make her even faster and more agile than before. Technology would improve upon what Henry had created. All she had to do was be willing to implant herself with Reaper technology. Like Saren. She had turned him down, and Kai Leng had been all too eager to take her place. And now, Miranda had been exiled to Omega to get a project of barely any significance back on track. Crippled and scarred as she was, her mind still had some use to Cerberus. And as long as she was of use, then Oriana was safe.

"I didn't know Cerberus could field that many ships."

Miranda hobbled forward to join her at the window. The sky was filled with ships of every type, from fighter craft to cruisers, all gleaming white and bearing the Cerberus emblem. And at the head of them all was the _Elbrus_, Cerberus' only dreadnought. Overseeing her construction had been Miranda's last assignment before Lazarus. She would never forget the look of pure pleasure on Oleg's face when she had shown it to him. He had waxed rhapsodic about her relative speed and maneuverability, the Thanix gun that they had stolen from the turians. And it had successfully evicted Aria. Oleg had proven her wrong. Again.

"_Gallant,_ this is Omega Control confirming your approach. Proceed to Docking Bay 19. An escort will meet you there." The controller's voice filter vanished. "And, if I may add a personal note, it's a pleasure to have you back Ms. Lawson."

"Likewise, Hawthorne." At least she would be spending her exile among those who knew and respected her. And Oleg, who had more than respected her.

The docking bays had changed. When she had fled her father's grasp for the second time and come here, the bays had been teeming with fellow refugees. The stink of unwashed bodies had overwhelmed a teenage girl accustomed only to the grounds of her father's estate or the rarefied air of Bekenstein. But now they were all but deserted, a few uniformed guards standing sentry notwithstanding. Scratched and dented metal had been repaired and the walls gleamed brightly as if the station itself was determined to refute her accusations that it was doomed to be nothing more than a pisshole.

"I trust you'll find everything in order, Ms. Lawson."

Miranda stilled. Oleg's voice was almost as familiar to her as her own. His clipped consonants belied a childhood spent in the Ukraine or the life he had spent on Shanxi. Command was infused in every syllable, and he had never needed to raise his voice to make others obey. Even now, Miranda had suppressed an irrational urge to salute. She turned.

Oleg's dress uniform was as immaculate as ever, with its polished brass buttons and gold trim on the cuffs. He had changed, though. He had never been handsome, but new lines had been etched on his face since she saw him last and there was silver on his temples and in his goatee. Exhaustion gave him a subtle pallor and dark rings around his eyes.

And yet… No, he had never been handsome, but there was power in him, and his lean build and the tension in his shoulders. In the careful, correct way he held himself. His dark eyes looked her up and down, passing over the scar on her cheek and down to her brace and cane before settling on her eyes.

Miranda clutched the cane, more out of defiance than a need for support. She could bear the pitying glances of the doctors and nurses because they didn't matter. But pity from this man who had taught her what it was to be a Cerberus officer, who she had—it was unendurable.

But the pity never came. He searched her face, intent, as if he were cataloging every cell for future reference. His eyes grew dark as he inhaled sharply. This was familiar. She had seen it when they first met here twenty years ago, and many times since. That oh-so-carefully veiled desire he was too noble act on. Disbelief coursed through her. The accident had stolen her beauty. Slashes across her face and the limp had frightened away men who once had been struck dumb by her mere presence. She no longer met the standards of the Diamond Circle. So there was no reason Oleg should still be looking at her as if only decency and good breeding prevented him from ripping away her clothes. But he stared at her, his lips pursed in a thin line. He wanted her. Very well.

Miranda straightened and stared at him as if he were a vassal giving her due fealty. Let him stare. She wasn't some little mouse to be broken by an injury or Quasimodo who had to hide in a belltower. This was the natural order of the universe. His fingers twitched, as if he were keeping his hands at his sides with great effort. If she took a few steps forward, she might tempt him to run his fingers through her hair, to forget the protocol that made him address her as Ms. Lawson. Break through that formidable discipline and prove to herself that she still had power.

Kelly coughed, and Miranda shook her head. For now, the niceties still had to be observed. "Yes, General, thank you."

"Excellent." He nodded to the two soldiers flanking them. "See to their luggage and escort Ms. Chambers to her quarters."

The one on the left saluted. "Aye, aye."

And then they were alone.

The tension in Oleg's shoulders dissipated like fog before sunlight as he gifted her with a wide smile. "My dear," he murmured as he raised her free hand to his lips. He pressed his mouth to her palm, and Miranda shivered. She had almost forgotten his strange, quaint courtesy. He might command a dreadnought, but there was a part of him that belonged more to the world of cavalry charges than space battles.

His beard scratched against her skin as he kissed her a bit too hard for a bit too long. Oleg never demanded anything, but his desire was as obvious as the neon lights of Afterlife if one knew how to look. He had always been her superior or she had already taken a lover. But now they were unattached equals. Her lips twitched. Seduction was definitely in order.

"I've impressed you at last, I think." He released her hand and gestured expansively at the docking bay. "Clean, orderly, and no one tried to extort you. If fortune smiles upon us, someday Omega will truly be the Citadel of the Terminus: a bastion of civilization where the strong no longer do as they please while the weak suffer what they must."

"A bastion of civilization? There's never been any law on Omega, and I don't think there ever will be. Even Aria only prevented wholesale massacres."

He made a contemptuous noise in the back of his throat. "Aria was never interested in law, just in her own power and glory. You say that it's impossible to bring order to Omega? Well, what is Cerberus for but doing the impossible? There are two million humans on this station. We aren't the Alliance. Our obligations don't stop at some artificial border. I've been put in a position to help these people, and I'm going to do it."

Miranda smiled. "Such a romantic."

"And you're not? Conquering death like that. Constructing _Elbrus._ I merely wish to take the optimism you have for science and apply it to the political realm."

The muscles in her leg seized in protest and Miranda leaned against the nearest wall. "I've become better acquainted with the limits of science that I ever wanted to."

He sobered. "Forgive me. The car is around the corner. Can you make it that far?"

She looked. Five meters. The pain was moderate. She could stay on her feet that long. "If you're not in a hurry."

"Of course not."

She hobbled forward. Oleg didn't say anything, but walked beside her, his expression akin to a man watching as an antique piece of china wobbled precariously on the edge of the table. Miranda kept her gaze on the ground in front of her and she hobbled forward, watching for any unexpected debris or other obstacles. The pain ran up and down her leg, but didn't overwhelm her._ Step by step. Deep breaths. Don't let it control you._

They got to the car, and Miranda climbed inside. Oleg sighed in visible relief as he took the driver's seat. Miranda raised an eyebrow. "I'm not glass, Oleg. I don't break."

"I know, I know." He shook his head. "I was so worried when I heard. We thought you were going to die, and I couldn't even get leave to visit you. I should have insisted more strongly."

She knew what that was like. All personal connections gave way before their duty. How many lovers had she left because her current assignment would take her to some obscure corner of the galaxy for months or years on end? He was no different from any other Cerberus officer. "You can make up for it by explaining exactly how you plan to pacify Omega."

"We've cordoned off each of the districts with the shielding technology developed at Avernus. It allows us to keep a closer eye on the population and makes escape attempts more difficult. The on-station protein vats provide food for both us and the station residents, so we're able to be almost completely self-sufficient. Curfew is strictly enforced."

"Sounds… unpleasant for the people living here."

"I don't doubt it. A guerrilla movement led by the Talon mercenary company has sprung up. The engagements have been inconclusive so far. I've asked the Illusive Man for more men, but he's made receiving the new implants a condition. It wasn't a price I was willing to pay. Nor were you, from what I understand."

"No." And it had cost her more than her leg. The Illusive Man increasingly only listened to those who had received the implants, claiming that their increased mental acuity and focus made them more trustworthy. And so she had been replaced by men like Kai Leng while others like Jacob left altogether.

"And so we must make do with what we have. The techs are studying a batch of LOKI mechs we received from Eclipse, but I don't know how useful they'll be. Stupid, slow, and with armor like tissue paper. And Atlases aren't practical for containment duty."

Miranda furrowed her brow. This was precisely the kind of challenge that had earned her her status as the Illusive Man's right hand and heir apparent: how to complete a Herculean task with limited resources and manpower. Oleg's vision for Omega was a utopian dream, but it was a challenge nonetheless. How to keep the soldiers safe and effective, to show that there was a viable alternative that didn't involve implanting Reaper technology to directly into the human body. "Let me take a look at those mechs. And the shielding. We might be able to scale it down to increase armoring for both them and your troops. And create energy-based melee weapons. Project Phoenix was doing some fascinating work in those areas before the Illusive Man shut them down."

"If you could do that… well, whether the Illusive Man meant your posting here as exile or not, I'm glad you're here. I have my talents Miranda, but they're suited to commanding a battlefield, not a city. But you've always had a talent for administration. What did Brynn say when we were all posted to Illium? You know how to squeeze a credit chit until it screams, sniff out eezo at a distance of a hundred paces, and bend the laws of physics all before lunch.'"

Miranda's cheeks warmed. Appreciation of her talents had been rarer than platinum since her injury. She was either useless, pitiful, or both. But whatever strange effect she had on Oleg allowed him to remember who and what she was. "I only slightly modified Bekenstein's First Law."

He laughed. "I have missed you so, my dear. With your help, I think we might be able to create something truly impressive. The Illusive Man wants shock troops. We'll give him that and more. An army that has truly mastered and integrated Reaper technology without indoctrination. And a city worth defending with that army."

_John scowled at her. "You… Cerberus… you can't help me. If people knew I was sleeping with the Cerberus second-in-command, it would just be another reason to crucify me. We can go back to what we were. The best thing for you to do is stay away."_

"Oleg, I'd be delighted to help you."

"Good." He smiled, and some of the light seemed to come back into his eyes. "And we're here."

He stopped in front of a grey tower unadorned except for a Cerberus logo. "Barracks for the science and command staff. Your room is on the ground floor. We received a copy of your medical records, and we've done our best to accommodate your injury. The entire complex is accessible by elevator, including the transit system to the command center. Handrails have been installed in your bathroom, if you require them. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "And I've promised to personally dock the pay of anyone who leaves things lying in the hall."

"Thank you." She could live and do her job with a minimum of discomfort. If her plans for Oleg went as well as she hoped, her stay on Omega might be enjoyable after all.

"I'll see you inside. Make sure everything is in order and all that. Wouldn't want your luggage mislaid." His expression was neutral, but his speech was just a little too rapid for him to completely hide his emotions. Well, if he wanted to spend more time with her, Miranda certainly wasn't going to turn him down.

Cold assaulted Miranda as she stepped into the lobby. It bit through her jacket and worked its way under her skin. Her muscles seized and clenched as her nerve endings sprang to unpleasant life. Miranda closed her eyes and inhaled as she had been taught. _Ten, nine, eight… don't think about_ _it_. The cold seeped its way into the joints of her knee and him, and it was a battle for dominance between body and mind.

"Miranda!" Oleg said sharply. "What's wrong?"

"The cold. Makes my leg stiff and sore. Add in the long day and, well, you see."

"This wasn't mentioned in the file they sent me." Oleg swore under his breath. "Can you make it to your room?"

Miranda shook her head. "Not without help."

He half-dragged her to a chair a few steps away. "We did have the presence of mind to get a basic model hoverchair. Would you like me to call for it?"

Miranda nodded. Not the impression she wanted to make on her first day, certainly not to a man she planned on sleeping with, but there was no place in her life for foolish pride anymore. Oleg turned away and murmured something in his communicator. "It's on its way."

And a few minutes later, a beige hoverchair, its paint flecking off, zoomed toward her as if guided by an invisible driver. Oleg took a step toward her, but Miranda waved him away. "I can get into it." She forced herself to her feet and pivoted to sit down in the chair. The cushion was hard. Miranda grimaced. She had hoped to be done with these things once the physical therapists announced they could do no more. Well, she was getting good at being disappointed.

Oleg led her down a corridor to her right. He didn't speak or look at her, but kept his eyes firmly on the ground. Miranda frowned as she tried to block out the pain. Was the chair the straw that broke the camel's back? Final proof that she was no longer the woman he had lusted after for so long? The therapists had showered her in pamphlets; a cascade of the blind, lame, and deaf tastefully done in pastels, assuring her how her sexual and social life could continue unimpeded. Only it hadn't. It might have if she had had the first idea how to manage the small talk and pretense of interest in anything beyond sexual release that characterized modern dating. Without iPartners, without the cold, classical perfection that enthralled even the Hero of Elysium, Miranda had no idea how to proceed. Except that Oleg had seemed determined to go on being enchanted anyway. Probably.

He opened the door for her and Miranda gratefully glided inside the room. It was much as her quarters had always been when she was on assignment: little more than a bed, desk, and dresser. Her suitcase sat tantalizingly on the bed. Inside was the blessed, hated Andrex that was her best shot at relief.

Oleg watched her with the same distant, melancholy expression. He turned on his communicator again. "Authorize power reroute from sector 0579 to 0973 and raise global thermostat to 22 degrees. Yes, I'm serious. Yes, now, unless you want to be reassigned to sewage treatment. Petrovsky out."

The room began to warm immediately and Miranda let out a breath. It would take time for her muscles to relax and the pain to fade—and she'd still need her dose of Andrex—but warmth was heaven.

"Is that better?"

"God, yes." She managed a smile for him and pointed at his chest. "Angling for more medals?"

He didn't smile back. "It was my fault in the first place. We've instituted a rolling brownout to enable us to power the force fields without blowing the generators. This building is scheduled for Tuesdays. I'll reroute to exempt this building and the labs where the adjutant experiments take place. Give either me or Corporal Matthews an hour's notice if you need to travel elsewhere."

"You're using that much power?"

"An unfortunate necessity. We were unable to restrict guerrilla movements with standard containment procedures. We try to spread the power outages out evenly as much as we can. But accommodating your injury takes precedence, naturally."

Miranda massaged her thigh through her trousers. "I hope sector 0579 is as accommodating as you are." He shifted foot to foot but didn't answer, and Miranda raised an eyebrow. "What is sector 0579?"

"Does it matter?"

"Oleg…"

He cleared his throat. "It's, ah, my personal quarters and offices." His voice was often the same breakneck pace as before. "It was my mistake in not being sufficiently informed of your needs, so I must pay the price. Don't worry, I have sufficient blankets."

"I—" Miranda swallowed hard. Why did he have to be so stupidly noble, creating a dozen small debts for her to scramble to repay? She had thought she loved John, but this man who had lusted after her so openly that she had picked up on it as a teenager was the one acting like the hero of the books she had read when Henry wasn't looking. Romance was out of the question—what sort of future could there be when the Reapers could come charging in at any moment?—but perhaps she could even the score and prove she wasn't a complete invalid. "Perhaps we can discuss your chivalric streak when I'm not in pain?"

For the briefest of moments, Oleg's face wore an expression of such hope that the lump in Miranda's throat threatened to engulf her entire body. She had not guessed wrong after all. Oleg schooled his expression into one of polite inquiry. "What are you asking?"

"I want an affair." She took his hand in hers. She had known him for over half her life; he deserved more than seductive artifice. Emotional exposure to complement the physical. "I can't promise you anything. But after these past few months, I want the company of an old friend for as long as it could be enjoyable."

It was Oleg's turn to swallow. "I didn't do this so you would sleep with me."

Miranda stared. Twenty years later and he was still terrified of extorting her? No. "I'm asking, because I want this. Not because I think I'm obligated." She dared to kiss his fingers. They were rough and callused from a lifetime of holding rifles. Oleg didn't pull back, but let out a shuddering breath. Miranda had missed this, the pure power of being able to incite lust. She moved her lips over his fingertips and palm. "I want this," she repeated between kisses.

His free hand went down on her shoulder. "You're certain?" he asked with such gravity that Miranda could only nod. "God help me."

He bent down to kiss her. They had kissed many times: a kiss of the hand like the one he had used to greet her, a kiss on the cheek after a particularly successful operation. But this felt different. He did no more than press his lips to hers, but something thrummed just beneath, a power she could command for her own pleasure if only she could break through his legendary reserve.

"Here, Friday at 7:30. If that's acceptable?" he asked as if he were a schoolboy wanting to know his marks.

"Yes," Miranda said with a smile. "That's acceptable."


	3. Chapter 3

Oleg stumbled into the dining hall at seven the next morning, still half-asleep. His body had been too cold and his dreams too fevered to allow for more than a few fitful hours' rest. He cursed everything he could think of: himself for rerouting the power, Kandros for making the force fields necessary, Shepard for giving the order that had crippled Miranda. But what could he do? Things were as they were, and the power needed rerouting. At least the synthetic ham tasted as if it came from a pig.

Miranda stood just outside the entrance, leaning slightly against the wall. She didn't seem to notice his approach, so Oleg took the opportunity to drink in the sight of her. She was pale beneath her makeup, not like ivory, but the sickly pallor of someone suffering from too little sleep and too much pain. And there were the scars of course. He could hardly help noticing them. On a man, they would have been called badges of honor, but too many confused chivalry with condescension when a woman was disfigured.

Slashes cut across her forehead and the right side of her face as if she had been attacked by a tiger. They were deep, trenches of flesh dug out of her face. But her eyes were still the same blue-grey they always had been. Intelligence, humor, and unbridled arrogance brimmed therein, promising the world to any man who could keep up with her. And it was that that drew him back time and again. Beauty faded or could be marred, as it had been marred in her. But the mind, that vital spark, burned as strong as ever. De Troyes and the other troubadours of ages past had been gravely mistaken. It was not beauty or breeding that could make a man battle dragons or risk his honor and position for merely a glimpse of his lady's face. It was passion. And that Miranda had in abundance.

"You like what you see?" she asked with a lazy smile. "I thought it was usually women who had a weakness for scars."

So he hadn't been unobserved after all. He blushed. "I apologize. I didn't mean—"

"To stare?" Her smile grew wider and there was a predatory glint in her eyes now. "I want you to stare. As much as you like." Her voice dropped to something low and husky he had only heard in his dreams. "Or more than stare." She gripped her cane and took a slow, deliberate step forward.

Miranda didn't kiss at all like he thought she would. In his fantasies, she had always been wild and frantic, shoving him against the wall and having her way with him. She started slowly, cupping his cheeks and molding her mouth to his. She tasted like vanilla. Her tongue explored the edges of his mouth, but she didn't seek entrance as her fingers followed the lines of his face. _She's studying me_. Well, he could do some studying of his own. He brought an arm around her waist, careful not to upset her balance. His hand roamed her back as he traced the lean muscle. Not how he thought it would be at all.

She pulled back, a smile playing across her lips. "I should have done this years ago." She ran her hand over his chest. "Well, we'll have to make up for lost time, won't we? But for now, we should go in. I'm starving."

Oleg watched in a daze as she straightened her clothing and walked inside. He had once read an article in a popular science magazine about a physicist who theorized that the fundamental natural laws that governed the universe in fact existed in a finite bubble and that if one went far enough out or expend enough energy, one plus one might equal three. This must be what it was like to live in such a place.

Miranda smiled and nodded coolly at those members of the staff that she knew and discussed some article or other with Dr. Barrington as they took their seats at the table reserved for senior staff. She smiled politely at Oleg as she sat next to him, but her hand skimmed his thigh under the table in a way that made Oleg shiver and mischief danced in her eyes.

"Glad to be working with you again, Lawson," Michelle Barrington carried her Cambridge education in her very voice. In a world where someone like Oleg might trace his ancestry equally from the Ukraine and India and Ghana, she was as purely and unreservedly English as they came. "Though I'm not sorry that I missed out on Lazarus." She thought for a moment. "Though this assignment might be just as fatal, come to think of it."

"How many have you lost?"

"Too many," said Major North, who had taken over for Colonel Ashe as Oleg's second-in-command and was an improvement in that role in the way that being shot in the foot might be said to be an improvement over being castrated. "We lost most of the original Avernus team. And thanks to those thrice-damned Talons we don't have enough manpower to secure both the station and the base beyond the relay. And, thanks to the general here, the Illusive Man won't send us the reinforcements we need."

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "The Illusive Man insists on accepting the implants as a precondition to receiving reinforcements," Oleg explained. "If we're requesting more manpower, then we should be willing to try everything. So we've been forced to move the labs here."

"Which is practically an invitation for massive casualties. We only showed up here in the first place because the adjutants wanted to overtake the station. Well, now we've practically thrown open the doors and invited them to have us for dinner. If getting stuffed with Reaper tech that makes us stronger and faster is the price we pay for getting enough men to do our damned jobs, then I'm fine with that."

"And I'm not fine with subjecting my men to dangerous and unproven technology. The last thing we need is a repeat of the Grayson affair." Such were the burdens of command. An officer had two objectives: firstly, to accomplish his objective and secondly, to safeguard the lives of his men. He had chosen the more cautious course in hopes of sparing more lives because caution—attending to the wisdom of those who had come before him—was usually the more successful course. Usually. There was always the possibility that the Illusive Man was right, innovation was called for, and he was spending his men's lives needlessly."

"Don't worry," Miranda said. "I'll get these adjutants of yours under control. I don't fail."

"You'd better not," North muttered darkly. "Thanks to you, we're in even more danger. Expanding elevator access into the labs—if those things can figure out starship controls, I'm pretty sure they can figure out how to press the up button."

Cold anger welled up within Oleg. "You will retract that immediately, Major."

But Miranda held up a hand before North could answer. "I'm quite sure they could figure out how to use the elevator. Or find their way through the mining tunnels. Or, if the reports of their strength in the briefings I read are accurate, punch through the wall. We're dealing with an incredibly dangerous creature. But I'm very, very good at dealing with danger. I brought a man back from the dead and helped end the Collector threat once and for all. Can you say the same?"

"You don't lack for confidence, do you?"

Something dark flickered in Miranda's eyes. "Not about things like this."

Oleg made a mental note to ask her what she meant by that, but before he could say anything more the sound of a klaxon filled the air of the dining hall. "Threat condition Delta. Containment breach in Laboratory 2."

Oleg swore. "Speaking of adjutants…" He stood from the table. "I'll deal with it. Perhaps that will assuage your fears about my commitment to the safety of my men." He looked at the sea of faces. "I need six volunteers to deal with the outbreak. "

One by one six people stood up. Matthews. Goldstein. Hadley. Hawthorne. Rolston. Patel. Miranda saw them too and looked at him with mild surprise. Oleg smiled at her. "The bravery of your former crew does you credit."

"It does them credit. Good luck, General," she said with stiff formality. Under the table, though, she put a hand on his knee and squeezed.

Oleg put his hand over hers. "Thank you, Ms. Lawson."

He took part in ground engagements only rarely, but donning his armor was like riding the proverbial bicycle, and Oleg was ready for action in minutes. He checked the sights on his rifle one last time before clipping into his back. The Saber had a slower rate of fire then he was comfortable with, but it' stopping power was unmatched by anything short of a sniper rifle. And the adjutants were fast enough that it was wise to assume he only had one shot anyway.

He cleared his throat. "The labs are open and cover is fairly sparse. Given the creature's speed and agility, that gives the terrain advantage to the adjutant. But we are armed and armored, and it isn't. Keep your distance and keep firing. Stay out of melee range at all costs. The thing doesn't want to kill you. It wants to transform you."

If not for the kinetic barriers sealing the labs off from the station as a whole, Oleg would have said that it was a false alarm. The labs were mercifully deserted at this hour. The staff would have been torn to pieces like the one at Avernus. Miranda could have been here. Oleg shook his head. That didn't bear thinking about.

The absence of other people gave them a tactical advantage as well. Except for the quiet hum of the life-support systems, it was utterly silent. Oleg strained to listen, but didn't hear the distinctive _tha-thunk _of the adjutant's footsteps.

The only warning they had was the groan of metal on metal before two meters of the wall was simply ripped away. The adjutant stood there like a great lumbering monster from Lovecraft's nightmares, tentacles pouring from its mouth and eyes glowing with blue light like a husk's. It leapt forward with a swiftness that shouldn't have been possible for a creature of its size and Oleg just barely dived out of the way as its claws slashed air.

"Fire!" he panted. "Don't hold back."

He brought the rifle up and squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit home. Six more joined in quick succession. The creature rocked backwards and let out a groaning noise. He fired again, aiming for the bulbous mass rising up like a hump from its spine. It still didn't go down. Black blood oozed from its body. It glared at the table where Rolston crouched for cover and extended its hand. A flash of biotic power—wait, adjutants had biotic power now?—extended from its hand, and Rolston was lifted into the air.

He screamed. Matthews grabbed his leg, but it was fruitless; Rolston was rising too high, too fast. The creature leapt for him, its cry a mixture of pain and triumph, and they were entangled together in a mass of claws and limbs. Rolston screamed and thrashed uselessly as the adjutant pinned him. The men stood frozen for a long moment, terrified of hitting their comrade.

Oleg fired. "Keep shooting."

"We'll hit him, too!"

"If you're fortunate. Do you want your friend turned into that?"

A hail of bullets was his answer. This time, the creature's eyes flickered. Another round. The light died as it fell on top of Rolston, black and red blood mixing together in an unholy sludge. The chime sounded the quarter hour. Their battle had taken less than five minutes.

He heaved the body of the adjutant off Rolston. Miranda or Barrington would probably yell at him for damaging a valuable sample, but they could wait. Rolston groaned feebly and his breath was a harsh death rattle. Oleg's heart hammered in his chest. Not again. When he had come to Omega to put down the first adjutant invasion, he had lost too many good men to the creatures, watching them transform into a monster he was forced to euthanize for the safety of the others. Even Ashe had been a loss in his fashion. How many more was he going to lose?

He looked down. Rolston had sustained a bullet wound to the shoulder and a slash that had torn away the top two layers of his chest plate. Black and red mixed freely in the blood that pooled around his body, but the blood oozing from the wounds was simple, human red. The beast had wounded him, but it hadn't been able to begin the transformation process. He would only die. That was what passed for victory these days.

"My daughter…" He coughed and sputtered.

"Will know that her father died in defense of humanity." As they all were prepared to do.

Rolston stilled. Oleg closed his eyes. The final grace any commander owed his men. He shoved his emotions into the little box in his heart and locked it tight. The pale, shocked faces didn't need a man right now; they needed a general. "Get a cleanup crew down here. Inform the rest of the staff that I'll be in my office drafting a condolence letter to Serviceman Rolston's family. We will hold a memorial service as soon as practical. Those of you who knew him better are welcome to consult with Ms. Chambers about the details." He rose, stiff and formal. "But for now, we can best honor him by doing our duty."

Miranda sat at her desk. It would have been easier to say that the facts and figures on the datapad swam before her eyes as she drifted in a haze of pain and shock. But the facts and figures made perfect sense. The loss of her staff always sharpened her mind. There was no room for the catatonia of grief in Cerberus. You acknowledged the loss of your comrades and did better for them and moved on, or you died yourself.

"I want an autopsy on that thing. I want to know why the control implants failed." Her predecessor's notes were a disorganized, jumbled mess. Barrington told her that some of the initial data had been lost when the Avernus team was slaughtered, and some of it was simple sloppy record-keeping. Miranda made a contemptuous noise. Sloppiness begat disasters like Overlord. You got in a hurry and started caring more about getting the results as soon as possible instead of getting reliable data and having a care for safety protocols. Miranda had always preferred the methodical approach. She sometimes took longer than the Illusive Man preferred. She was often overbudget. But none of the experiments she had performed ever led to the deaths of entire teams and threatened stations. Wilson had been a failure of intelligence, not of the scientific method.

"Yes ma'am." Dr. Hezekiah Walker looked as if he should be just out of high school, not several years out of the medical school at the University of Mumbai. "I suppose it would be crass to say that it's an honor working with you, under the circumstances."

"Yes, it would be crass. And I don't need flattery, Doctor."

"It's not flattery." He pulled up the chair opposite her. "May I?" Miranda shrugged, and he sat down. "It's a shame most of the Lazarus data was lost. I suppose we'll have to wait a bit before everyone gets a resurrection of their very own."

"It was never going to be 'everyone.' Even discounting development costs, Lazarus would cost over a million credits to replicate." Acid crept into her voice. "The only people who were going to be rising from the dead because of it are people like my father." And even more mundane helpful applications were years or decades away. In the first desperate weeks after her injury, she had broached the prospect of using the procedures that had restored John's skeleton and nervous system to repair her own damaged leg. The data had been lost thanks to Wilson's treachery.

"But we're not interested in raising the dead right now. We need to find a way to make the dying work for us. Before our budget gets slashed again and we can't afford to buy more murderers from prison ships so Petrovsky can soothe his conscience by only experimenting on bad people."

"I spent five hours on one of those ships during a prison riot. We're doing the galaxy a favor." Miranda rubbed her temples. "Does this line of discussion have a point, or are you simply trying to decide whether you want to flatter or irritate me?"

"They did say you were charming." His voice was lazy and casual, and Miranda automatically set up a little straighter. John had used the same tone of voice when he was about to have one of the ideas that was either going to pay off handsomely or get them all killed. "Not all the data was destroyed. I got a look at the specs for Nyarlathotep. I think it could pay off here."

Miranda's head shot up. Nyarlathotep had been the codename for the control chip technology she had intended to implant in John once he woke up. She had believed it a necessary safety precaution for dealing with an Alliance soldier, but the Illusive Man had had more faith in John's pragmatism. Well, the Illusive Man had gotten the Collector technology he wanted and Miranda had been cast aside by Shepard as soon as he got what he wanted. There was a joke in there somewhere. "Nyarlathotep was designed to make the subject receptive to suggestion when exposed to certain aural cues. Namely the Illusive Man or myself uttering a specific trigger phrase."

"Yes, but if we can modify it… Those things used to be sapient, and they still have an advanced enough nervous system that we were able to give them biotics. If we can adapt your technology, we can finally have the shock troops we need to make Cerberus great."

Miranda's eyes widened in disbelief. "You can't control adjutants now, and you chose to make them more dangerous by giving them biotics?"

Walker shrugged. "Our efforts to control them weren't progressing. Our efforts to make them more effective in combat were. We do the best we can."

Miranda glared at him. There were times she wished she shared John's penchant for seizing a man by his shirt collar and threatening him into decency, but that required a presence and energy she didn't possess. "Let me be clear. As long as I'm lead on this project, we will not make the adjutants more dangerous until they are under our control. We do not needlessly endanger the lives of the soldiers charged to protect us and this station. That's merely giving aid and comfort to the Reapers. Understood?"

"Understood," he said in a pleasingly small voice.

Chambers walked in. She was pale, and her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. "Miranda I—" she noticed Dr. Walker. "I'm sorry. I can come back later."

Miranda waved dismissively. "I was just apprising Dr. Walker of some of our new operating procedures. He's returning to his workstation right now." Walker took the hint and scurried out of the room with a murmured goodbye, and Miranda leaned forward at her desk. "What do you want?"

Chambers shifted uncomfortably. "I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay. I mean Vadim died your first full day on the job. That can't be easy."

Miranda softened slightly. Just the usual polite condolences. She could deal with that. "I'll be fine, thank you."

"The rest of Lazarus Cell had a meeting and… and we'd like you to say something at the memorial service."

Miranda's brain ground to a halt as shock did what grief couldn't. "Me? I'm not even your cell leader anymore."

"You were our commanding officer before Petrovsky was."

"No I wasn't. I was a liaison who was just there to look out for Cerberus interests. Commander Shepard was your CO." And John would have been so much better at this sort of thing. He had had the easy charm that she lacked, playing poker with Donnelly and Daniels and getting drunk with Chakwas. Miranda had moved in the background, making sure they had food and fuel. John had smiled over Rolston's pictures of his daughter and assured him that they were all going to make it home. Miranda had handled the paperwork regarding the daughter's transfer from New Canton to Earth. And it was John that the crew had followed into hell.

"Shepard isn't here." Chambers swallowed and stared at Miranda's face. Miranda was suddenly conscious of every ragged scar. "And he's not the one who held off a squad of Collectors while we boarded the _Normandy_."

_I was just doing my job._ Strange how that was what had made an impression. They could call it courage or heroism, but it was just another order to be followed like the order to go beyond the relay in the first place or the Illusive Man's insistence that she makes regular reports on the crew's status. That that particular order had led to her injuries didn't matter. It was a risk all Cerberus officers took. But Chambers looked at her with that faintly reverent expression.

_Isn't that what you wanted? _said a voice in her head._ To be the one that they would follow into hell?_ Miranda threw up her hands. "Fine. I'll come up with a little something."

Oleg had transformed one of Afterlife's private rooms into it officer's lounge, and that in turn had been transformed into a makeshift chapel for the memorial service. Someone—probably Patel—had scrounged up a holo of Rolston in his dress whites, smiling pleasantly out at them. A closed coffin emblazoned with the Cerberus emblem stood at the front of the room. The coffin was, of course, empty. Like all who died from wounds inflicted by creatures created during an experiment, Rolston's body would be kept for further study. About twenty-five or so people were in attendance: Rolston's former colleagues from Lazarus Cell, Oleg, North, Walker, and a handful of other soldiers.

Patel stepped forward. "It was my privilege to serve with Vadim on the SR-2. He was more than a colleague; he was a friend. He talked about his daughter Megan. He was so happy when she got off New Canton. Played the recording of her giggle for hours until Hawthorne threatened to hit him over the head with it. He couldn't wait until his deployment was over and—" She wiped her eyes. "Excuse me."

It was Miranda's turn. A sea of faces stared at her, waiting for the inspirational speech. But what was inspirational about this? A loving father had died because Cerberus couldn't be bothered with safety protocol. Again.

Miranda turned off the datapad containing her prepared remarks. They felt hollow now. "Vadim Rolston died bravely, and I don't want to take anything away from that. But it was a death that didn't have to happen. He died because of foolish recklessness, because results were prioritized over safety. And over the last year, I've seen that happen too many times. We've come here to honor his memory, but the only honor I can think of is to promise you that we will be careful." She gripped the podium with one hand. "It was my department that failed him, and as head of the department, I promise that we will devote as much effort to keeping you protected from the weapons we develop as we do developing those weapons. We will no longer pursue results at any cost. I wish I could promise you that he'll be the last to die. I can't. But he will be the last who dies because we are stupid."

Silence. Miranda hobbled back to her seat as a badly synthesized version of "Amazing Grace" playing. She could feel Oleg's gaze on her. Not disapproving, but studying. Walker fumed silently at the other end of the row. Well, let him. It was no less than he deserved. Overlord. Avernus. Now this. How many more people had to die before her fellow operatives stop confusing reckless stupidity with scientific brilliance? Well, she could force some good to come from this.

The others began to file out, but Miranda stayed in her seat. She pulled out the datapad and brought up the operating parameters for Project Zephyr.

_PRIMARY OBJECTIVE(S): To develop shock troops for use in fighting the Reapers, principally those created by use of the adjutant virus._

_SECONDARY OBJECTIVE(S): To assist in the containment of Omega and facilitate access to the technology beyond the Omega-4 relay as needed._

And to this Miranda added:

_To study how the death of Cerberus and allied forces from adjutants and other Reaper troops might be prevented._

_To investigate whether control chip technology ("Nyarlathotep") might be useful in accomplishing the above._

_To develop other strategies for controlling and subverting adjutants and other Reaper forces, both those created by Cerberus and those under her command of the Reapers._

"Miranda," Oleg said softly, "work can wait."

She switched the datapad off. "I'm going to make good on that speech. If I have to personally dissect every adjutant we have, I'm going to make Rolston's death mean something."

"I hope you do." He said down beside her and put a hand on her good knee. "Every friendly fire death is a tragedy. This project is supposed to save their lives."

She covered his hand with her own. "And it will."

"We were so close with the rachni and the husks. The perfect shock troops. Of course we can't use the rachni now that we know they're sentient, but there were no deaths on Binthu or Chasca before…" He trailed off as he realized how that sentence had to end.

"Before my ex-boyfriend shot up your facility and slaughtered the staff?" Miranda raised an eyebrow. "Remind me never to date a man who tried to kill my colleagues. It never ends well." They both laughed. It felt good to laugh again.

And, yes, they had been close, on Chasca especially. A case of Bekensteinian Flu had spread rapidly among the pioneer team, leaving nothing but corpses in its wake. ExoGeni had provided the dragon's teeth, and the Illusive Man had dispatched a science team to uncover the secrets of the frightening new geth weapon. The project had reported success in reducing the husks to a state of nonaggression before John showed up. Miranda's mind whirred as things clicked into place. "Oleg, you're a genius."

"Pardon?"

"We were close to subverting husks. What are we doing here but trying to control organics transformed into mindless slaves by the application of Reaper technology? And the Collector base was stuffed to the brim with dragon's teeth and God knows what else. I'm going to have a read through the data we collected on Chasca and see if there's anything useful we can use as a starting point for the adjutants. The similar blue glow in the eyes and skin suggests that the Reapers might be using a similar process in both cases. Control one, and we might be able to learn how to control the other."

"It's a sound plan. And, if nothing else, we could end up with some husks." His mouth quirked upward. "Though I would remind you that your orders are to develop adjutants."

She returned his smile. "No, my orders are to develop shock troops._ Principally_ adjutants. If the Illusive Man objects, he should learn to craft his orders more carefully."

Oleg shook his head, his eyes filled with amazement and a pride that filled Miranda with warmth. "I hope I never have to go to battle against you. You're a clever one."

"I learned from the best."

"Flatterer." He sobered. "You're going to have to use technology from the base."

Miranda felt herself go pale. "You heard about the vomiting?" She had been there when one of the colonists had been pulped into her genetic components. She had vomited at the sight. John and the Illusive Man had had stronger stomachs. "I wanted that place gone. The thought that there's even the possibility someone else could be tossed in those pods…" She shivered. "I'd rather not use the control chip either, but I will." She nodded toward the coffin. "I'd rather sacrifice a good night's sleep then another one of their lives."

"As any good commander should." He looked down at his hands and exhaled. "I'll postpone those drinks, then. You'll be buried in work."

Miranda shook her head. "No, I want you with me. And I can't pull the all-nighters I once did. Exhaustion and lack of sleep are as bad as the cold." _And I need to feel human again._

She kissed him. Slowly and patiently, telling him as best she could with her lips that they had time and could afford to be patient. The experiments and sex were all of a piece. Her injury had weakened in diminished her, but today she would begin transforming back and what she always had been: the brilliant operative who mastered death itself without going mad and who desired and was desired in turn.

"I'll see you tonight."


	4. Chapter 4

Miranda sat at the vanity, applying lipstick for the first time in months. She studied herself in the mirror. There was no helping the scars on her face, so she had ignored them in favor of accentuating her remaining good features. Her hair was glossy and cascaded to her shoulders in soft waves. Mascara lengthened and shaped her lashes. The lipstick would draw Oleg's attention away from her scars to her mouth. The vanilla scent she wore was designed to subtly enthrall without overwhelming. Seduction was really just another form of war: you pressed your advantages while minimizing your disadvantages.

Her hands shook as she fastened the choker around her neck. She was being silly. It was Oleg who was coming. Oleg who had been transparently besotted with her almost from the moment they met. Oleg who had bent over backwards to accommodate her. A few experiments with the vibrator had assured her that she could still climax, and she could still please him with her hands and mouth. She hadn't been nervous fucking a stranger the last time she was on Omega or seducing John in the engine room. So why were her hands shaking now?

There was a knock at the door. Miranda inhaled and picked up her cane. Once more unto the breach, etc. "It's open."

She arrived in the kitchen/parlor to find Oleg standing just inside. He was still in uniform and seemed ever so slightly out of breath. A thin, square box rested under one arm. His free hand was occupied with smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his shirt. Miranda smiled despite herself. At least she wasn't the only one who was nervous.

His eyes lit up when he saw her, and he looked her up and down appreciatively. "Black is decidedly your color, my dear. I always thought so."

At last, some of the reserve was peeling away. "You should have said something. I would have worn it more often."

"I didn't want to take advantage. But now…" His voice was a low purr that made her shiver. "Yes, you should definitely wear black more often."

She came to him. There would be no hurry tonight. Every hungry glance, every sharp intake of breath was gold to her, medicine for the wounds inflicted on her ego alongside her leg. Her hand traced the muscles of his chest beneath his shirt. Very soon now, that power would be hers to command and use for her pleasure.

He pulled away. "Before I forget, I brought you something." He presented her with the box. "Forgive the cliché, but since wine was out of the question, I thought you might like…"

Miranda took the box. "Open it," he prompted, nervousness lurking just beneath the command.

Miranda sat at the kitchen table and did so. It was chocolate—real chocolate, not the mass-produced imposter usually sold in Omega's market. The pieces sat in their individual containers, ready to be popped in her mouth and savored as the delicacies they were. She tried to remember the last time she had eaten some. Before her injury, probably before the mission had begun. And the last time a man had brought her candy… She hadn't wanted anything that smacked of romance or affection from her iPartners liaisons. It confused the matter too much. John had preferred more practical gifts like a new sight for her pistol, and Jacob had never gone in for that "gift giving bullshit" in the first place. But Oleg had given her chocolate. Terribly old-fashioned.

She swallowed hard. "I—I don't know what to say."

"I apologize if I made a mistake. I thought you'd appreciate a small gift." His voice was soft. His head wasbowed and tension corded his shoulders. "But if you would prefer to simply begin I quite understand."

"No." She reached to cup his cheek and kissed him. He relaxed slightly and Miranda increased the pressure. He was a man out of time, with his impeccable and sometimes maddening courtesy. And he was her oldest friend since Niket had betrayed her. Of course he wouldn't be content with simply marching to the bedroom and having at it. She opened her mouth to him. Oleg was wet and soft and warm. He kissed her slowly and moved his tongue as deliberately as if he were directing soldiers on the battlefield. Miranda closed her eyes and returned the favor. Quiet pleasure meandered through her. It was a relief to simply be able to take her time and not be watching the clock while the idiot she met on the extranet undid his fly.

"I'm in no hurry at all," she said when she pulled back. And to prove it, she nibbled at a piece of chocolate. It was sweet. Better than sweet. Smooth and rich in a way that made her not so much want to eat it as simply let it sit there and evaporate in her mouth. Oleg watched her with a mixture of hunger and pleasure. "Want some?" She cocked her head to one side, pretending to think. "Or was that what you were thinking of eating?

He blushed. "Miranda…"

Miranda smiled again, glad to be on more familiar ground. "Have some. If I recall correctly, you have something of a sweet tooth." When he didn't move, she added, "Come now. It's always better to share among friends."

"Friends," he repeated, a little wistful. "We are friends."

Something clicked into place for Miranda. Was that what he was worried about? "Of course we are. Now we're just friends who are having sex. And when you get sick of me or I'm transferred to the other end of the galaxy, we'll still be friends." Really, the very idea that she would discard him was absurd. She had rescued him from slavers. He had taught her of Tolstoy and White. Sex was nothing to that.

"Have a piece," she repeated, more gently.

This time, he acquiesced. Miranda watched him. Like her, he nibbled, because like her, he knew exquisite things when he saw them. Who knew when such luxuries would come their way again? Some of the lines around his face smoothed and he relaxed a little more. If a simple pleasure like chocolate could soothe him, then what could she do? She would please him. This would not be like the last time on Omega. She would watch as the last of his control shattered. More of those lines would vanish. She would carve out a place where there were no Talons or adjutants for him or leg braces or faithless Alliance officers for her.

"Are you ready?"

He nodded and silently followed her to the bedroom. She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at him. His gaze was intent on her, filled with as much calculation as lust. "What?" she murmured.

He blushed again. "It's rather difficult to explain. I'm not accustomed to talking about such matters." He took a deep breath. "What can you do?"

"What can I—oh." Oh. "I'm still quite capable if that's what you're wondering." She looked at him, pride welling up within. "Quite capable indeed."

"Is there anything in particular I need to do?"

Of all the times for Mordin not to be on Omega. He would have found a way to slip Oleg an instruction manual the moment he even thought about having sex with her. "Don't ask me to kneel." Perhaps there was a way to kill two birds with one stone: to begin repaying him for the chocolate and to reassure him of her continued health. "Do you trust me?"

He looked at her as if she had asked him whether the sky was blue. "Of course."

"Then I think it's time to reward you for being such a gentleman. If you could lean against the wall."

"What are you doing?"

"Rewarding you," she said with a smile. "Unzip your trousers."

His cheeks reddened, but he pulled down his zipper in a quick motion. Oleg wasn't especially large. Good. More likely to be comfortable later on. A blue vein worked its way down the side of his cock. Miranda stared at it. There was a time when she would have dropped to her knees, eager to suck him off. Those days were gone, but she was creative and brilliant. And she could move things with her mind.

The power danced across her fingers and wreathed Miranda's hand in blue light. She ran her hand up and down an imaginary cock, and was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath from Oleg. She did it again. Again. His breath came in short gasps. Miranda smirked. Jack might have her beat when it came to raw power, but she had her skills. Her power spiked, and Oleg groaned. Such as knowing just how hard she could press without hurting him, and without her own sense of touch as a guide. The phantom fingers strolled up to his base.

"Miranda," he managed, "stop."

The power died. "You didn't like it?" Men usually liked it when she used her biotics on them. Surely she wasn't that out of practice?

"I liked it a little too much," he said between pants. "But this is all out of order. You're still dressed!"

Miranda laughed. Was that all? So particular. She could work with that. She patted the bed beside her. "You're welcome to do something about that."

It was his turn to smile as he sank beside her. His mouth was on her as his arms came around her shoulders. He traced her scars with his mouth, lavishing his attention on them. Miranda shivered. "No," she whispered. "Kiss me as if they weren't there."

Affection and concern flickered across Oleg's face. "As you wish." He moved over from her mouth to her cheeks and down her jawline. Pinpricks of heat shot up where his beard scratched against her. He seemed determined to cover every inch of her face in kisses. Miranda followed suit as best she could, tracing the lines of his face with her mouth. It was a kind of game: who could reach more of the other's bare skin with their mouth?

She unfastened his coat. Miranda stared hungrily as his bared chest was revealed to her. There was no such thing as an out of shape Cerberus officer, but Oleg was delicious. He was lean and athletic, more like a swimmer or a rower than a bodybuilder. She ran her fingers over his lightly-furred chest. These muscles had been crafted for work, not show. Faint scars dotted his chest, some jagged and some little more than discolored lines. This one a legacy of the week he had spent as a prisoner of the Blue Suns right here on Omega. And that one… from a gunshot wound Henry's guards had given him when he helped her get away with Oriana. She pressed her lips to it.

He pushed her away, gently but firmly. "Kiss me as if they weren't there."

"It's not the same at all."

"Isn't it? I was hurt because I chose to help you. You chose to help your men. The only difference is severity and that something finally got past that remarkable healing ability of yours." He smiled that smug, superior smile of his, the one he used when he had successfully proved that some maxim coined by Wellington or Rommel applied equally well to space battle. "So I'm afraid you'll have to choose."

Maddening, infuriating man. Kiss him as of the scars weren't there, hmm? As he wished. She rained kisses down on his chest. He groaned and Miranda laughed. So delightfully incoherent. Much better.

He groped for the zipper of her jumpsuit, and Miranda scooted to allow him better access. Said healing factor had left her torso mostly unscarred and the way Oleg looked at her as if she were a steak he wanted to devour sent a thrill through her. He cupped her breast reverently as he peeled her bra away. Sparks went through her. She'd almost forgotten how good it could feel. A pleased, pleading noise issued from somewhere in the back of her throat. He pulled her jacket away

And stopped. "Your brace. Would you, would you prefer me to remove it, or would you rather do it yourself?"

Miranda looked down at the contraption of metal and plastic that encased her right leg and laughed. She'd forgotten it. For the first time in months, she had allowed herself to forget the hot, uncomfortable symbol of her injury. Tonight would be worth it just for that. "You do it."

He slid off the bed and knelt in front of her. He undid the straps quickly and quietly and gently pulled the brace away and lay on the floor. "My squire," she murmured as she luxuriated in the sudden coolness. The Terror of New Macau on his knees for her? Her hands fisted in his hair as she leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead.

He removed her boots. "My lady," he answered with a hint of irony as a smile played across his lips. "Tell me what you want." He offered her a hand up and let her use him as support as she removed her trousers and panties. A warning twinge fired through her leg, but Miranda forced it down. Not tonight.

She settled back on the bed. "You. Let me look at you."

He stood and quickly stripped away his own clothing. After he had brought her to Cerberus and it had dawned on her that he would never take her to bed, she had thought he was a pompousfool more concerned with his rank and his books back than actually getting anything done. Stripped away the trappings of command and he would be nothing. She knew better now, but it was still a delight to see him like this. Even naked, he was a soldier, command and self-control radiating from his very posture. He met her gaze. There was nothing veiled in his hunger now. Soon, very soon.

"Just tell me what I need to do."

She grabbed the nearest pillow. "My knee and hip aren't what they used to be, but the brochure assures me that these things compensate for that wonderfully." She forced a smile, her voice filled with a seductiveness she wasn't entirely sure she felt that moment. "I'd like to test that theory."_ Please let this work. Please._ She rolled over. "Put it between my legs. You'll have to come in from behind."

He placed the pillow as she'd instructed. She felt the mattress shift as he climbed in beside her. His breath tickled against her ear. Miranda felt strange in the unfamiliar position. She had always preferred to be on top, watching her lovers as they surrendered themselves to her. "Not how you thought it would be, is it?"

"No," he admitted. "But there are compensations." His arms came around her, and he stroked her breasts leisurely, Miranda let out a long, shuddering breath. Desire shot through her. His hands were large and slightly calloused, and she savored the feel of his roughened skin on hers. Pleasure with just the slightest hint of pain. Exquisite.

One hand wandered downward to trace the muscles of her abdomen. His breathing was as the harsh and ragged as her own. He moved lower. His thumb brushed against her clit, and Miranda gasped. A vibrator was all well and good, but it was nothing compared to a real lover with real hands. He laughed against her. His voice was strained, but as rich and polished as ever. "Enjoying yourself?"

Miranda chose not to dignify that with a response.

The pressure increased to short, smooth strokes. Miranda's world became sharper and narrower. Pain retreated. John discarding her, Rolston's death, even the constant pain in her leg, all gave way before the rising tide of pleasure. Nothing existed except his fingers touching her, his breath tickling against her ear. Miranda made a keening noise. "Now."

She felt him tense slightly. Oh no, he couldn't stop now. Not when she was so close to getting what she wanted and the ending the long months of enforced celibacy. "You're not going to hurt me." She panted. "Just put in in!"

He did. The first thrust was shallow and tentative. Miranda tried to catch it as best she could. She would never come from penetration alone at this rate. Oleg seemed to realize it too as his fingers returned to her. Strokes became circles. Miranda moaned and clutched the sheets with all the strength she possessed. "Like that. Good. More." Pressure built within her and then spilled over as if her body were a dam besieged by a flood. Oleg gave a hoarse grunt as he thrust into her one last time. She forgot how to think, how to breathe, and for the first time in far too long she knew nothing but pleasure as her climax overtook her.

When Miranda came back to herself, she was still curled up on her side. Her body, the sheets, and even the pillow were damp with sweat, but she was too lazy and content to care. Oleg had disentangled himself from her, but she could feel the solid weight of him still pressed against her. He made lazy circles on her shoulders. "Was that what you wanted?"

"Oh, yes."

There was a long pause. "Do you want me to leave now?"

Miranda frowned. He wasn't an iPartners liaison. This wasn't an engine room she had to flee before Daniels and Donnelly were back from break. And he was so delightfully warm. "Stay. Only, come around to the other side. I feel ridiculous talking to you like this."

"If I can stand," he said with a chuckle.

He moved around to the other side of the bed, and Miranda edged back to accommodate him. His smile was lazy, and there was a spark in his eyes that she hadn't seen since she came here. A smug smile unfurled across her face. She curled against his chest as he stroked her hair. "Was that what _you_ wanted?"

"Fishing for compliments, my dear?" He smoothed a strand that had fallen in front of her face. "Yes, that's what I wanted."

"And there's still so much more left to come." She settled down against him, listening to the beat of his heart. "We're going to win, you'll see. You'll figure out a way to get those Talons under control, and I'll master Reaper technology. The Illusive Man won't even remember why he ever thought the implants were a good idea."

He didn't answer for a long time, and when he did his voice was distant. "I hope so. We're so shorthanded and I would appreciate the Illusive Man finally deigning to give us reinforcements. Though the techs have finally got a prototype of the new LOKI to show me. I assume you still want to attend that meeting?"

"Of course I do." She kissed him lightly, but he didn't respond. "What's wrong?"

He sighed. "We arrested an ardat-yakshi this afternoon. Nearly enthralled one of the men while they were attempting to take her into custody. We have her in solitary now."

"Morinth."

"Yes, that's the name. One of them. You know her?"

"John tried to entrap her so the justicar we were traveling with could kill her. It didn't work." John had been livid. Morinth had excused herself to go to the restroom while they were talking and was never seen again. Miranda wasn't sure what had enraged John more: that a murderer had gotten away or that she had somehow suspected he was working with Samara.

"I read the reports. She was on this station for four months, and Aria never raised a hand to stop her except for pointing Shepard in the right direction." His voice was sharp with anger. "All that power and the Pirate Queen of Omega does nothing to prevent the rape and murder of her subjects. It's gross negligence that I need to correct. I've already signed the execution order." His voice trailed off.

"But?"

"Walker waylaid me on the way here. He wants to turn her into an adjutant and fit her with those control implants you designed. Seems to think that her unique nervous system might be the breakthrough we've been looking for. It took me forty-five minutes to convince him that it was your department, not mine."

"So that's why you were out of breath," Miranda said, stalling. She wasn't certain any of Walker's ideas merited testing at the moment, let alone one that created another adjutant. But if anyone could ever deserve such a thing, it would be Morinth. "Tell Walker I'll oversee it myself, and that if he even thinks about coming into the lab, I will see him reassigned to the janitorial staff."

"It's better than paying that overdressed sadist who runs the new Purgatory." He twisted a strand of hair around his finger. "I'll observe. I signed the order. It's only right that I watch it carried out."

Miranda smiled to herself. Oleg was good at many things. Lying wasn't one of them. "You mean you want to be there to make sure that I don't end up like Rolston."

He stilled. "I would never presume—"

She kissed him again. "You are charming. But I'd appreciate the extra security." She pulled the cover around them both. "Goodnight."

Oleg woke with an aching shoulder. He was stiff from lying in one position all night, and there was an unfamiliar warmth emanating next to him. He opened his eyes. Miranda lay next to him, still sound asleep. Oleg propped himself on his elbow and watched the slow, even intakes of breath. This wasn't how he thought it would be. He had thought of bedding Miranda far more often than was becoming over the last nineteen years. She would be as certain and commanding in the bedroom as she was on the battlefield. She would sit astride him, and he would be as helpless to resist her as he was a typhoon.

Her injury had made her less physically dominant, but that wasn't the thing that had surprised him most. She had been playful, teasing. He chuckled at the memory of her kissing his chest with abandon. When she had had the most control, she had opted to please him with her biotics. And they had stayed and talked afterwards. They often talked, of course, but a part of him had been convinced she would insist on maintaining the strict separation between those she seduced and those she confided in. Instead, they had made plans, freely mixing sex and the more mundane aspects of life. As he and Catherine had once discussed buying new furniture or the possibility of getting Nikolai into an exclusive preschool after they had finished lovemaking. Perhaps it was better to stop that train of thought. It was as Miranda had said. Whatever he might fantasize about, they were friends having sex. Soon enough, the Illusive Man would see the error of his ways and welcome Miranda back into his inner circle. Oleg might not see her for a year or more. Asking or hoping for permanence was a fool's dream.

Miranda woke. Her eyes were bleary with sleep, but she smiled when she saw him. "Good morning."

"Good morning." He dared another kiss and she responded. Fantasies of permanence aside, he could grow accustomed to the subtle insistence of her mouth and the way she ran her fingers over his hair. "We really should get dressed. It wouldn't be proper for the two ranking officers to be late for breakfast."

"And as much as the image amuses me, I don't think I can get away with going to breakfast naked." She looked at him, suddenly uncertain. "Do you want to go ahead and get dressed or do you need a shower first?"

His body was covered in sweat. "A shower would be lovely." He peered at her. "What's wrong?"

"It's nothing."

"Miranda…"

Her cheeks flushed slightly. "My morning routine is a little involved, that's all. And try not to use all the hot water. I hate it when my muscles seize up in the bath."

Ah, of course. The injury. Always the injury. Damn Collectors. "You go first."

Miranda gave him a grateful smile. She stood up gingerly, using the bed for support. Her steps seemed more labored, more pained, without the use of her brace and came. She muttered to herself as she walked, though whether she was cursing or whispering reminders to herself, Oleg couldn't say.

"Do you need me to help?"

"No. It's just difficult. And I'm not much of a morning person to begin with."

Oleg watched her hobble into the bathroom. Last night, he had followed her direction. He had been terrified of hurting her, of course, but he had had something to do. It had even been funny in a way, with all that business about squires and ladies. But this time, he could only watch as she twisted and turned to put her clothing on comfortably, as she encased her leg in the brace. There was nothing romantic or amusing about it. It was simply awkward looking. She hissed as her leg bent. And painful. "You're quite sure there's nothing I can do?"

She fastened the last clasp. "No." She grimaced. "I'm guessing watching me hobbling around putting my clothes on didn't figure into any of your fantasies?"

"No. It didn't." That was the thing about fantasies; they always omitted the difficulties.

The old defiance and pride flashed in her eyes, just as it had when she insisted he not hold back during a self-defense training session. He had given her a nasty bruise on her face, but it was the last time he had ever defeated her in hand-to-hand combat. To hell with the difficulties. Keeping his men and the people of New Macau safe against a foe who understood only total war had been difficult. Outsmarting Aria had been difficult. He could endure watching someone he cared for in pain.

"But on the whole I think I prefer the actual woman to my imagination."

Her smile was his reward.

* * *

_Comments are always appreciated. Working on the last chapter as we speak, but I'd like to know if anyone else is enjoying._


	5. Chapter 5

Oleg arrived an hour before the execution. Technicians hustled below the observation platform, doing last-minute checks on the equipment. Everything was a sterile white. He shifted uncomfortably. The experiment would hopefully be of immense benefit to humanity, but he was old-fashioned. Execution should be by firing squad or hanging. Or, considering the circumstances, perhaps the asari should be handed over to her victims. This was too sanitary, too removed from the brutal truth of what they were doing.

Miranda stood observing the technicians with an icy stare. She wore black, but there was no other trace of the passionate and playful woman who shared his bed. She inclined her head in greeting. "General."

He clasped his hands behind his back. "Operative Lawson. I trust everything is going according to procedure?"

"As much as it can under the circumstances. The prisoner was offered the last meal and a mild sedative. Both were refused. Chambers has drawn up letters to notify victim's families of the execution. We've inventoried the prisoner's belongings so we can return them to her next of kin when the blockade is lifted." She scowled. "Samara's just going to love that."

"Perhaps she can take some comfort in not being forced to kill her daughter." He sighed. "I'll write that letter myself."

By the time the restraint team brought the asari in, Oleg's muscles tensed with the urge to pace. She wore an ill-fitted gray jumpsuit that was the best they could do for a proper uniform. In addition to the usual handcuffs and shackles, she wore a neural inhibition collar to prevent use of her biotics and mind-altering abilities. Her expression was cold and disdainful. If she were frightened of the transformation unit standing in the middle of the room, she didn't show it. The techs swarmed around her like worker bees, attaching devices to monitor everything from breathing rate to hormone levels. "Clear!" shouted one of the techs.

Miranda pressed a button on her omni-tool, and a small holographic image of the asari appeared. "We're receiving."

Oleg nodded. "Ask the prisoner if she has any last words."

The tech stared at him, and Miranda raised an eyebrow. "We're not savages. There are rules as to how executions are conducted, and we will uphold them regardless of the circumstances as long as it's safe to do so. Ask her."

The tech opened his mouth to do just that, but the asari spoke before he could. "You think you're so much better than me. Well, at least I know what I am, and I take pleasure in it." Her eyes flew upward. "Petrovsky. Lawson. I know you're there. Do you honestly think that this is just? I know about Teltin. And I know about how your boss was the one who let monsters onto the station. I even know about the chip you wanted to stuff into your boyfriend's head."

"Liar!" Miranda trembled with barely suppressed rage.

"He's a very chatty drunk. Mind control. Isn't that how Henry Lawson made his money? Mind altering drugs and implants sold to the Alliance? And here you are doing him one better by taking my mind from me while your little lapdog of a general nods and smiles and pretends he's doing the right—"

"Technicians, begin!"

The restraint team marched her into the transformation unit and closed the pod door. The glass was clear, and Oleg forced himself not to turn his gaze away from the asari's face as she glared at him. So proud. Regret scraped at him. She was a murderer who had preyed upon the innocent for centuries, but she was also a creature of immense grace and power. A life that had begun when the United North American States were all still colonies was about to end. The predator would be extinguished, not in combat, but by the push of a button. Fate was often cruel.

A low hiss filled the air as needles extended from the back of the pod to inject the virus. There was a moment, just the barest fraction of a second, when her eyes widened in fear. Oleg had seen it many times: the moment when someone knew they were going to die painfully and could do nothing about it. The asari yelped in pain. Yelps became screams. Her body convulsed, and her head banged on the glass like a child's broken toy. She began to change. The lithe, feminine body grew in height and breadth until it was a great, hulking beast. The eyes glowed bright blue. Tentacles spewed from the mouth. And through it all, the screams. No longer those of a sentient being, but of a wild animal in pain.

Miranda had gone pale. The holographic image she stared at had gone red. "Breathing and heart rate accelerated. Cortisol levels: nine nanomoles per milliliter. Adrenaline levels…" Her eyes widened. "That can't be right."

The screams filled the air and then suddenly there was only silence. The adjutant stared out of them, its expression blank. It raised spindly claw, like an infant reaching for her favorite toy—or a beloved stuffed bear. No, he would not compare this…tool with Nikolai.

"Time of death: 0907," Miranda announced dully. "Take the thing to the storage unit until further notice."

"Aren't you going to install the control device?"

"Leave that to Dr. Barrington." A tremor had infected Miranda's voice. "I need to check these readings." She hobbled into a side room.

Oleg followed her, his mind racing. He had never known Miranda to be particularly squeamish. This had been difficult to watch, but she had seen dozens of her fellow Cerberus members impaled on dragon's teeth. Was this really so different?

He found Miranda staring at a computer console. Numbers raced down the screen too fast for him to comprehend them. "What's wrong?"

"I've seen these readings before." Her voice was businesslike, but there was a brittleness just beneath. "The asari adrenal system is almost identical to a human's. The Chasca team reported similar spikes. I think this is how the Reapers transform us. The dragon's teeth, the virus: it's all the same thing. They're manipulating our hormone levels in order to speed conversion. And we may be able to alter husk biochemistry the same way. I can't be sure. I have to get husk samples to make sure."

"That doesn't explain why you look like you're about to throw up." His voice softened. "You know she was lying. I memorized Henry's file after you came to us. He was a greedy, arrogant, monster who experimented on his own child. You actually care about humanity."

"Of course she's lying. That's what she does." She ran her fingers through her hair. "The procedure reminded me a little too much of when I saw those colonists melting. The screaming didn't help." She managed a weak smile. "I think the Reapers must purposely design the technology in order to give us nightmares. The things we do for humanity."

"Indeed." The echo of the screams reverberated through the air. Oleg shivered despite himself. "Tango squad apprehended a turian stabbing a salarian. Walker wanted him too. With your permission, however, I think I'll simply have a firing squad set up. The body is yours to do with as you see fit."

"Acceptable. We can test our theories and still get some shock troops. And maybe the screaming won't keep us all up at night. Come on, don't we have a meeting to attend? Deal with some mechs?" But as they passed the technicians as they sterilized the room, he thought he heard her whisper. "I'm not like him at all."

The office had once been Aria's private domain. Oleg had thrown out the couch and replaced it with something that didn't look as if it had been designed by a sandblasted elcor, but Afterlife's origins as a club were impossible to disguise. The floor below him where even now Hadley and Patel were setting up practice dummies for the demonstration still glowed an unsightly neon that hadn't been fashionable on Earth for two centuries. He sniffed. Repeated cleaning attempts have proved insufficient for getting the smells of smoke and sex out of the place.

North sat reading a datapad, his scowl deepening as he did so. Miranda pretended to lounge on the couch. She was still pale. Oleg considered whether he dared sit beside her and put an arm around her. It had been detestable, if utterly predictable, the way the asari had lashed out at them. Henry was a brute and a savage who wasn't fit to lace his daughter's boots. And dragging the Illusive Man into it… the initial adjutant invasion had been a tragic failure of protocol. The Illusive Man treated the lives of his agents with the care any competent commander would show. Hence his current obsession with the implants. He and Miranda were all looking out for humanity as best they knew how. And Oleg was no lapdog.

Discretion won out and he remained where he was. He hated waiting, and there wasn't even paperwork that might have kept him busy.

North swore, and Oleg raised an eyebrow. "Something I should know, Major?"

"Report from the Kima District. Talons got two more of our men last night him and vanished into the tunnels. And we can't go down there because of the radiation levels. Damn turians. I'm sick of losing people to Kandros. Some days I think we ought to just let the adjutants have them the first time."

Oleg glared at him. "These people are under our protection."

Miranda's lips twisted into a dry smile. "Well, if you're lucky, will be able to send the new mechs down in your place. If not, we could always send Walker."

North laughed. "I think you've just given me motivation to sabotage the presentation. Did you know he wanted to see if he could give adjutants the ability to turn invisible? As if we aren't having enough trouble. Which reminds me: he was looking for you, Lawson. Something about a prisoner scheduled for execution?"

Miranda looked at Oleg with a mock-pleading expression. "Why can't we send him down into the tunnels again?"

Oleg fought the urge to smile. Miranda could be the very devil incarnate when it suited her. "I think they're ready for us."

The lower floor of Afterlife had been transformed into a makeshift target range. The practice dummies had been dressed in a mockery of Talon armor, and plastic tubes had been affixed to their hands to simulate firearms. One of the new LOKIs stood deactivated near the bar. It carried a shotgun and the armor had a faint red sheen, but it looked otherwise identical to the standard model.

The tech in charge of the project was a willowy blonde who strode toward them and extended her hand. "General, I give you the Rampart. Your containment problems are solved."

Miranda fingered the arm gingerly. "It looks like the same model that I kept blowing up the last time I was on the station."

"And you look like the Phantom of the Opera's younger sister, but we all know you're a genius. Looks can be deceiving." She powered on the mech, and it stood at attention. The lights in the headpiece were long red slashes they gave it a faintly sinister air. The red sheen became an outright glow, as if the Rampart was wreathed in fire that did not consume. It readied the shotgun.

"We use the same ablative armor that covers the transports, so the mechs are able to pass through the force fields freely. They're thirty percent faster than the original model, and much more accurate. As I'm about to demonstrate."

She pressed a button, and the Rampart sped to the nearest target. As promised, there was none of the slow, lumbering gait of the earlier LOKIs. It moved toward the target with a relentless precision that could almost be called graceful and fired a half-dozen shots in quick succession. Pellets shredded the dummy's face and torso.

"The thing can hit the broadside of a barn now?" Miranda muttered. "But how will it hold up when dealing with people? The Talons won't be so obliging about standing still."

"I assure you we—"

North's communicator sprang to life. "Major, we've got a situation in Tango Sector. Some civilians are pissed about the food dispensaries malfunctioning, and they're refusing to disperse. Requesting backup."

The tech's eyes glittered. "If I may make a suggestion? You want to see how the Rampart performs in the field? We have five ready to go. Send them. I'll patch us into the security system, and you can observe them firsthand."

"Without putting any of my men at risk," Oleg said. "Make it so."

Miranda frowned, but didn't say anything. North clapped her on the shoulder. "Don't look so grim. If this works out, we can use the mechs to keep the adjutants under control and you won't have to attend any more funerals."

Miranda pulled away and crossed her arms. "Maybe."

Ten minutes later, they were watching security footage of the Gozu District. A handful of dirty, raggedly-dressed turians were blocking the alley. "We want food and we're not leaving until we get it."

As promised, five mechs marched through the force field single file. "Disperse," said one, its mechanical voice reverberating through the air. "You are violating containment protocols."

"What the hell is that? Looks like it came straight from the Void."

One of the other turians squared her shoulders. "Does it matter? It's just Cerberus trying to scare us away. Well, I'm not going to let them scare me." She grabbed a piece of trash and threw it at the Rampart.

The Rampart began to glow. "Armed response detected. Hunter-killer mode engaged." An omni-blade unfolded from its and ran the turian through. The turian crumpled to the ground as violet blood pooled beneath her shirt. "Disperse."

Cold rage sliced through Oleg. "What is the meaning of this? That did not warrant armed response."

The tech turned pale. "It performed extremely well in the trials."

"A pity that it's not performing so well now." He balled his fists and forced his breathing to remain even. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline further use of the Rampart." He turned to North. "Get a squad down there. Alpha containment protocol. Do everything you can to avoid further casualties."

"Aye, aye," North said as he hurried out the door.

Oleg rounded on the tech. "Your services are not required for the moment."

"I have a question before she goes." Miranda's voice was casual, but Oleg could almost feel the ice beneath. "How did you know to have the mechs ready?"

The tech went even paler. "We-I knew you would want to see the Rampart in action. It was just one lousy food dispenser. No one was supposed to get hurt."

"But someone did get hurt." Oleg sat at his desk. "Because of your carelessness a civilian is dead. And if that does not move you, then we have a possible riot situation that could threaten the security of the district, and the Talons will be able to use this in their recruiting. I do not tolerate such incompetence and disregard for sentient life. You are dismissed. I want you off this station on the next supply transport."

The tech skulked from the room like a scolded child. Oleg buried his face in his hands. How many more deaths by stupidity would they have to endure? Cerberus was supposed to defend humanity, not behave like the jackbooted tyrants of the twentieth century who had been all too willing to fire on their own people.

A warm hand touched his shoulder. Miranda smiled at him. "It wasn't your fault."

He covered her hand with his own. "Are you the only competent scientist we have?"

"I could call Brynn and Nicholas. Though I'd still be the most brilliant competent scientist you have."

The chuckle tore from his mouth almost against his will. "You are a paragon of modesty, my dear." He sobered. "Kandros is going to have a field day with this."

"If we're lucky, she won't be able to get much traction. Most of those turians were scared out of their minds." She shuffled to the nearest chair. "Here a question arises: whether it is better to be loved rather than feared, or feared rather than loved. It might perhaps be answered that we should wish to be both; but since love and fear can hardly exist together, if we must choose between them, it is far safer to be feared than loved.' We were never going to win any popularity contests."

He shook his head. "So you were paying attention when I talked about Machiavelli. But do you remember what comes next? 'However, it is important above all to avoid being hated.' We are perilously close to that."

"Well, you are trying to impose law on a station that's never had it. Aria ruled for over five hundred years, and the station was a pisshole even before that. Maybe it can't be changed. Maybe the best we can hope for is to do our experiments and get out."

Miranda always had been a pessimist. As long as it was only her own abilities that were being put to the test, her confidence was boundless. But speak to her of human nature and she no longer saw any reason for hope. "What city on Earth has the highest per capita income?"

"Mumbai. But I fail to see the relevance."

"One of these days I will convince you of the value of studying history. In the twentieth century, and the early part of the twenty-first , large parts of the city were little more than a slum. Filth everywhere. Children naked in the streets. Human trafficking was not uncommon, both for prostitution and domestic work. And now it's one of the safest, most prosperous cities in the world, with the finest medical school humanity has to offer. In time, I believe Omega can be just as grand. The—"

"—Citadel of the Terminus, I remember. And I promised to help. But let's be honest: you're talking about nation-building. Do you know how many empires have dashed themselves on the rocks over some bit of idealism that never panned out ?" She raised an eyebrow. "I did read _some_ history."

"And yet, we have to try. Not to bring democracy. I don't think any of us have the patience for an Omegan Constitutional Convention. But…" He ran his hand through his hair as old memories were dredged to the surface. "Article 17 of the Alliance Charter of Human Rights: 'the right to bodily integrity shall be respected, as shall the necessity of consent for sexual, medical and other purposes,'" he recited. He drummed his fingers on the desk, wishing desperately for something to do with his hands. "Do you think the children serving as drug mules gave their consent?" He swallowed hard. "You were one step from becoming a whore or a mercenary, and that's if you were lucky. If you had ended up as some junkie or selling yourself…"

She didn't say anything. They hardly ever spoke of those days anymore. He remembered a seventeen-year-old girl offering to share his bed if only he could keep her safe. And he remembered that sick fraction of a second where he considered it. In that moment, he had understood why man needed law: passion was unreliable. And how many others were there who weren't smart enough to survive as long as she had without getting crushed by some strongman or other? And now he was a strongman. Now he could prevent the crushing.

"You can't do this with just an army," she said at last. You need someone who knows how to manage this herd of cats."

"That would be you?"

"For once, no." She smiled the same smile she had when she had spoken of resurrecting the dead or controlling husks. "But I know someone who does. And he owes me a favor."

"Everyone owes you favors, don't they?"

"Up to and including the Shadow Broker. And now you know the real secret to success in the intelligence world."

The door opened, and Walker charged in. "Operative Lawson. North told me you were here." He glanced at Oleg. "General, I was told that there are executions by firing squad scheduled?"

"Correct, Doctor."

"But we need more live subjects. Response to the control implants has been mixed, but I'm sure that if we can just refine the process a bit more, we'll be able to perfect it."

Miranda glared at him. "So far that refinement process killed the previous science team, one of my men, and nearly killed General Petrovsky. May I remind you that the purpose of Cerberus is to advance and defend humanity? That generally involves looking for ways to reduce casualties, not increase them. For the moment, I believe we can make adequate and safe progress running tests on corpses. I will tell you when that changes. Am I clear?"

"But Operative Lawson—"

"Am I clear?"

"Yes ma'am." He shoved his hands in his pockets and went for the door. "No wonder the Illusive Man doesn't trust you anymore. No respect for scientific advancement."

Miranda watched him go. "Are you absolutely certain we can't send him into the tunnels?"

"I can arrange for him to be on the front line of the barricade it the Talons ever try to attack here. Of course, if they manage to make it this far, then I'm afraid we have much larger problems than Walker." She didn't smile, and he walked over to her. "The Illusive Man will see your value once again."

"And if he doesn't?"

"He will." Oleg knew that the way he knew the proper method of flanking the enemy. Tolstoy had had no use for the great men of history, but Oleg knew better. The Illusive Man took what could have been the chaos of billions of people desperately struggling to get ahead and brought vision and purpose. Oleg would have been another frustrated Alliance officer who watched helplessly as slavers preyed upon the colonies. Who trembled because he knew the Alliance was not strong enough to bear a full-scale war with the turians if they ever decided diplomacy didn't suit them. The Illusive Man recognized those who followed his vision and gave their all in the service of humanity. Miranda had done more for humanity than anyone Oleg had ever seen. "Give him time. And if nothing else, at least you're here with me."

"There is that." She kissed him, a long, slow kiss that left him scrambling to keep his balance and cursing his decision to throw out Aria's couch. "I have some numbers to crunch, but I'll arrange a meeting with the friend I spoke of. And I'll see you tonight."

Oleg followed her as far as the entrance to the command center. The Rampart stood uselessly by the bar. Miranda gave it a contemptuous glare. "I hate the idea of depending on those things anyway. No match for a decent marksman."

"Oh?" Anything to get her mind off the idea that the Illusive Man had no use for her. "Would you care to demonstrate?"

In answer she backed up forty paces and drew the sidearm concealed in her jacket. A single shot severed the mechanical head clean from the body. Oleg shielded his eyes as the mech exploded in a shower of sparks. Miranda surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction. "I'd say an explosion radius of three meters. And mechs do seem to adore attacking in conveniently clustered packs. If one of those protesters had been armed, poor Major North wouldn't be on containment duty." She holstered her gun. "I'd suggest getting someone to write a VI program more sophisticated than 'stand around and get blown up' if you really want to deploy those mechs."

"You could have done that earlier."

"If I'd known about this stunt with the food dispenser, I would have. But it would have been petty otherwise. Really, the Phantom of the Opera's sister? I'm not even musical."

Oleg laughed and ran his lips over her scars. This time she didn't pull away.

* * *

_It may take a few extra days to post new chapters. I acquired a second beta and a new puppy who is demanding my attention. I'm writing chapter 17 (of 18) so the story won't be abandoned, but updates may not be a strict Monday/Thursday._


	6. Chapter 6

Miranda massaged her leg as she looked down at the husk. Pain slid over her. She hated days like this above all: she would do everything right and pain would steal over her anyway. She especially hated it on report days.

The Illusive Man swirled his glass. "I understand you are making some progress." The stress on the word _some_ was almost imperceptible, but Miranda had been working for the Illusive Man all her adult life and knew his moods as well as anyone could. He was disappointed.

"We've managed to induce relative docility by altering the levels of various chemicals within the husk and adjutant form. Not that different from hormone therapy in humans, really." Except for the husks being disgusting, but there was no help for that. "The treatment wears off between seventy-two and ninety-six hours later, depending on the original species of the husk."

"And what could be causing this?"

"My hypothesis is that they have some as yet undiscovered self-repair mechanism. The good news is that it doesn't seem to give them immunity. We've been able to reapply the treatment. So far, one of our asari-based adjutants has displayed no aggressive behavior for two weeks."

"Hm." He took a long drink, and Miranda fought to keep her expression neutral as the silence wore on. "And how could we move from simply pacifying the husks to controlling them?"

Miranda bowed her head. "The husk and adjutant neural systems are unlike anything I've ever seen. They don't map onto the biology of any known species. Creating activity in certain areas of the 'brain' is different from inhibiting behavior. It continues to elude us." She raised her head and set her shoulders. "For now. And if we can devise an airborne delivery system, we should be able to significantly decrease the effectiveness of Reaper ground troops. I've already drawn up a prototype."

He waved her away. "No, our focus must be on controlling them."

Miranda gripped her cane. He couldn't be serious. They had a means to pacify one of the Reapers' biggest weapons, and he didn't want to put money into research? "It could give us a significant advantage when the war comes."

"Not nearly as significant as controlling them. Think! For every husk we subvert, the numerical imbalance between us and the Reapers decreases by two: they lose a soldier while we gain one. The raid by Anderson and the turians was a significant hit to our resources. We have to concentrate on what produces the most gains for humanity. Control is our path to victory, both against the Reapers and beyond."

She wondered if that was how he had convinced John to give him the Collector base: promises that humanity would emerge even more powerful after the war. Power was good. It enabled humanity to chart its own destiny without being beholden to the whims of the Council. But sometimes she wondered if the Illusive Man was so focused on assuring humanity's postwar position that he forgot that the war had to be won first.

"I appreciate your caution," he continued, "but these are desperate times. Batarian systems are already going dark. The Hegemony claims an Alliance plot, but you and I know better. The Reapers will be here soon. We have to do everything we can. This research is vital."

Pain shot up Miranda's leg, and she winced. "I—I understand sir."

"Do you? We're all going to have to make sacrifices and take risks in the days ahead. Kai Leng is already training to resume combat duty. The implants make him faster and stronger than before, quite equal to the Lazarus implants. And the lack of pain and attendant medication means that he can work longer. Something for you to consider." He turned the QEC off.

Miranda stumbled to her workstation. Her leg throbbed. Thrice-damned debris! She was supposed to be better than this. Henry had given her endurance and health beyond that of normal people. She was supposed to use that to accomplish great things for humanity, not to barely be able to keep up with the likes of Walker because she had only been crippled instead of killed outright.

The door opened. Chambers walked in. "The general is on the comm—" Her eyes widened. "Are you all right?"

_I will be once I'm high on painkillers and had a nap._ "I'm fine. Patch him through."

"Miranda, you look like hell," Oleg said. His lips thinned. "I can call back later if I need to."

"I'm fine. If you're calling me at work, it must be important." She looked around to make sure Chambers had gone and forced herself to smile. "Though I'm afraid I won't be much company tonight. Flare-up."

"Ah." He looked so helpless for a moment that Miranda wished he was here in person so she could put a hand on his shoulder and reassure him that she would be all right. "When I was a young man, I wondered if there was an enemy I couldn't beat with enough preparation. Now I know what it looks like."

There it was again. Those dramatic, almost romantic statements, tossed out as if he were discussing the weather. "It's not your enemy. It's mine."

"I know." A shadow passed over his face. "But it is difficult to watch those I care for suffer." She knew without asking that he was thinking of Nikolai lying motionless in a hospital bed while the rest of Shanxi celebrated liberation. He straightened suddenly. "We found Patriarch. He's being quite combative and refuses to meet regardless of any threats or inducements I offer."

Damn krogan honor. "Did you tell him that I invoke the rights of krannt?"

"I did." Oleg rubbed the back of his neck. "His response was… not something I care to repeat. Say what you will about krogan bloodthirstiness; they're quite inventive when it comes to swearing. I don't think he believed me when I claimed to speak on your behalf."

"I'm in no condition to go down there. And, knowing Patriarch, he'll find himself a new hole to crawl into just to spite you. Looks like we've lost him. For now."

Oleg smiled. "Perhaps not." His image winked out for a moment, and when he returned he was holding a sphere in his palm. "The latest from our communications research lab on Noveria. Think of it as a combination camera drone and comm. It can be sent to almost any location on the station and allows two-way communication with anyone within a ten meter range. I haven't had a chance to field test it properly. Perhaps you would like to do the honors? I have two sets. I'll use the other so we can both speak to him. Assuming he doesn't have an equally colorful response to you."

"He won't. Bring it here."

Fifteen minutes later, she watched through the eyes of the sphere as it zoomed down the streets of the Doru District. The streets there were in particularly bad shape, the concrete broken up in places. Miranda mouthed a silent thanks to Oleg and the Noveria team. It would have been nearly impossible for her to walk there even on a good day. Half the neon lights were out. Another one of the "forgotten places" of Omega that even someone like Aria had considered it wiser to ignore.

The drone stopped in front of a rundown tenement. Inside, paint peeled off the walls. The lights flickered dangerously. But the floors were curiously free of debris, and there were small signs of habitation: a data pad here, a shirt lying over the back of a chair there. At the kitchen table sat Patriarch. He had gone down in the world, his clothing the cheap, brown garb common to the laborers on this station rather than the relative finery he had worn as Aria's lapdog. And yet, he sat straighter and his eyes were brighter than they had been when she had met him in the back room of Afterlife.

He watched with some interest and no fear as the drones materialized. His eyes narrowed when he saw her. "I remember you. The woman with Shepard. What happened to you? You look like your face got torn off by a varren. Never mind. Happens often enough on this rock. And I see you brought the pompous little penguin with you."

Oleg glared but didn't say anything.

"Patriarch, I require a favor." Miranda spoke slowly and carefully, willing the pain not to show on her face. It was a delicate balance. She could neither afford to offend his pride nor to appear too weak and unworthy of his respect.

"And why should I help the people who have taken over Omega? Put up force fields everywhere and made it impossible to find decent ryncol?

"Because I fought those assassins on your behalf. That makes me kraant. You owe me."

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Kraant only by the most technical definition and only because Shepard ordered you. But bonds are bonds regrettably. What do you want?"

She looked at Oleg. He cleared his throat. "I want to know how I can bring order to Omega."

Patriarch laughed again, real laughter this time they shook the cup in front of him. "Order to Omega? This rock doesn't do order. All you can do is steer the currents and hope you don't get crushed."

"We're serious, Patriarch," Miranda said. "The general wants to bring law to Omega. Cut down on trafficking. Make it safe to walk the streets." She dared a sideways glance at Oleg. "Turn it into the Citadel of the Terminus, if you will."

"And here I thought you were just turning it into your own private fiefdom and making our lives miserable for the fun of it."

"Everything I've done was necessary to keep control of the population. We all must make sac—"

"Spare me, penguin. I can count. You don't have the manpower to hold on to Omega by 'keeping control.' You need friends. Even Aria had her little organization. Do you know how Aria managed to keep power for five hundred years? By convincing most of the mercs they were better off with her than without her. Profits would go up for everyone as long as she got her cut."

"Disgusting. I'm trying to break their power, not help them."

"And fortunately for you, Shepard did nine-tenths of the work for you. So, get yourself another power base. The Talons are the big thorn in your side, right?" Oleg nodded, and Patriarch continued. "Kandros is trying to sell herself as a champion of the downtrodden. You need to convince those downtrodden that you're a better deal for them than she is."

"I am a better deal. Cerberus is the only thing that can protect them from the Reapers."

"You think some giant robots dreamed up by a soldier who's sitting in an Alliance prison are going to scare them? Most people here are more concerned about getting shanked in an alley or where their next meal is coming from. And you're doing a lousy job on that second part. That synthetic swill tastes awful."

"It's the best we can do," Oleg muttered. "I have to eat it too."

"Ever thought of mentioning that? You can get away with a hell of a lot more if people know that you're not getting rich off being here. Especially since you want to be some kind of savior. Beyond that, keep them safe, keep them fed, and keep them happy. Ease up on the red sand restrictions."

"Do you have any idea how many lives are ruined by that poison?"

"About as many as are ruined by drinking, gambling, and all the other little vices that sentient beings can't seem to do without. But either the mercs are running it where you can't see or you're running it and it's nice and regulated and nobody's getting shot over it. Or running guns or…"

"You made your point," Oleg barked. "_Panem et circenses_ it is." He stroked his beard. "We'll have to do more than that. The roads here are in shameful shape. And Omega's outer defenses will be no match for a Reaper. Or even the sort of forces Aria will likely bring to bear when she inevitably tries to retake the station. But we don't have the manpower to make the improvements."

"Then you've got yourself an opening. Hire people to do it. Credits, extra rations, doesn't matter. And make sure that they know they owe their jobs to you and that they'll be back to being miserable if you get thrown off the station."

Miranda thought. "And there are dozens of medical doctors on my staff. Dr. Abrams took over Mordin's clinic. We could offer ourselves out as volunteers. Two or three hours a week for each of us, and loan of the medical equipment as needed. Specialists are rarer than platinum in the system." Her hip twinged. _Though I won't be able to start anytime soon._

"You're finally getting the hang of this. And now I think I've paid my debt."

"Not quite," Oleg said. "Suppose I were to offer you a… let's call it… a consulting role on my staff? Nothing official, but well-compensated enough. You must still know some of the people to deal with."

"A real advisor?" His voice was distant. "Not even Aria ever offered me that. I'm surprised a Cerberus officer would be willing to hire an alien."

"I pride myself on an eye for talent, regardless of species. Now do we have a deal?"

Patriarch only smiled.

Miranda turned off the drone and was back in the lab. The twinge in her leg increased, enough to tell her that it would be a good idea to go home now if she wanted to have any hope of working tomorrow. She would ponder the strange mix of idealism and populist politics she had gotten herself into later.

When she returned to her quarters, the door was unlocked. Miranda tensed automatically, watchful for any potential burglars or assailants. But they only visible addition was a small covered dish affixed with a handwritten note.

_I know you're exhausted and in some pain, so it seemed unfair to expect you to join the rest of us in the dining hall. Sleep well. –O._

Heat pricked at Miranda's eyes. Why did he have to do these things? And worse yet, why did the words stick in her throat whenever she began to object?

_Because he's not John, and I like being treated as if I'm more than a convenience. I might as well enjoy it while I can. The good things never last._

* * *

"I have good news and bad news, ma'am."

Miranda rubbed her temples. The intense pain of last week had subsided, but her reward for that was a mountain of paperwork and data to sift through. There were times she wished she could leave the project in the hands of Barrington and devote herself fully to Oleg's improvement plans. Part of her still believed that he was tilting at windmills, but at least it didn't involve trying to make zombies tap dance on command.

"Good news first, Dr. Barrington. God knows we need some."

Barrington slid her a datapad. "We're finally making some progress mapping the husk neural system. We've isolated the parts of the brain responsible for interpreting sensory data. We may be able to use it to cause 'hallucinations' for lack of a better word. At the very least, it should be useful for developing protocols for engaging or avoiding possible Reaper forces."

_Which is exactly what the Illusive Man doesn't want._ "Good work. What's the bad news?"

"We're running short on suitable corpses for experimentation. The shortage of batarians is reaching critical levels."

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "The population of Omega is one-third batarian. It shouldn't be that hard to find enough. Place a call to the clinics."

Barrington turned pink. "I already tried. Most batarians use the clinic in Gozu when they need medical attention, so I tried to work out a deal with them. Dr. Abrams nearly threw me out. Something about us not respecting batarian religious beliefs."

Daniel would be stubborn, wouldn't he? "I suppose the cybernetics count as mutilating the eyes. I'll give Dr. Abrams a call and see if I can't work something out."

Daniel looked frazzled and tired, but his eyes were hard and his face was less open than it had been a year ago. "Ms. Lawson, what can I do for you?"

"You can hand over any corpses you come in contact with for the next month. Especially batarian corpses. We'd be willing to pay you a premium."

"You, too? I'll tell you what I told the other Cerberus doctor. My patients would consider anything that damages the eyes of the corpse to be blasphemy. It traps the recently-dead batarian in his body and—"

"I have a working knowledge of batarian mythology, thank you."Oleg was Catholic, but Miranda couldn't recall him ever being quite so annoyingly stubborn. "But would you rather help actual, living batarians or their ghosts?" She leaned forward in her chair. "I'm going to let you in on a secret, Doctor. Next week, a Cerberus supply convoy will arrive. On that convoy are going to be nine thousand units of melanarin. That supply is supposed to last for three months."

His eyes widened. "But the station has used over twelve thousand units every summer for the last five years. You're engineering a horrific shortage."

"I'm not engineering anything. The requisition form was for twelve thousand, but the factory had to be partially repurposed to mass produce more medigel. I believe in making the best of a situation." She took a deep breath. This particular bargain had sprung to her mind almost the moment she had heard about the shortfall, but she had hoped she would never have to make it. "When I hang up, I'm going to make the same offer to the medical center in the Kima district. Whoever fills the quota first gets the supplies."

"No!" he shouted. Then, more calmly: "The med center serves mostly wealthy patients. They'll be able to get their supplies from the black market. We can't afford to deal with them. Hundreds of people, maybe more, will die if you don't give us those drugs."

"I know. I would prefer to deal with you because you do need those supplies and because Mordin liked you. But everything has a price."

"Shepard would have given them to me for free."

Miranda froze. The hell of it was that he was probably right. John had a genius for making things go his way. The unstable krogan that she had dismissed as too dangerous to awaken had become a valuable ally. He had successfully shouted down the Admiralty Board rather than allow either Tali or her father to be disgraced. He would have delivered the drugs and enough corpses would have simply fallen into his lap. "I'm not Shepard. Give me the bodies and those hundreds of people will have long and happy lives thanks to you."

Miranda watched as the battle between two conflicting tenants of medical ethics played out on his face. "I suppose you don't _have _to mutilate the eyes, right?"

"Right." The lie fell quickly and easily from her lips.

"Well, then I'll—I'll see what I can do."

"Good man." She turned off the comm. "Dr. Barrington? You'll have your corpses."

She stepped through the door. "I heard the whole thing." She looked down at the floor. "Would you have actually denied him the supplies?"

"If it came to that? Of course I would. I always do what I have to for the sake of the project." She brought up the form that would authorize the transfer of supplies to the Omega Clinic. "Thank whatever gods _you _believe in that it didn't come to that. And see what you can do about getting an airborne version of the neutralization agent. If the husks go insane, I want a quick-acting defense, no matter what the Illusive Man says."

Barrington nodded and withdrew, and Miranda was left alone.

When she had first started with Cerberus, such unfortunate bargains and threats had been par for the course. Support Tarak in his coup attempt in exchange for help getting Oleg back from the Blue Suns. Assassinate a politician supporting an unwise war with the Hegemony. And then…

…And then in 2176 she had found herself pregnant. Freak failure of the birth control, the gynecologist said. She had been terrified of what the Illusive Man would say and ready to abort the child so she could continue with her work, but the Illusive Man had seemed almost…pleased. He had promised her a relatively safe position overseeing a science team working on refinements to the L3 implant. And so she had kept the baby, growing more and more attached with every sonogram. She had found her vocation as a scientist. By sheer force of will, she had been revolutionizing biotics.

The child had lived three days. She had named him Peter. The science assignments kept coming, and Miranda had helped humanity and slept easily at night. Until the Collector Base.

"Could you tell Matthews to get the car ready? I think I'm going to watch the work on the purification plant." At least that was clean and uncomplicated.

Beta Sector had been one of the first areas pacified when the occupation began. It was a low-income but predominantly human area that had been fought over viciously by the remnants of the Blue Suns and Blood Pack before Cerberus had arrived. It was here that Oleg had chosen to begin his plans for revitalizing Omega's infrastructure. The sector shared water purification facilities with three other, more compromised sectors. Hopefully this would take the strain off the facility and convince others that cooperation was in their best interest.

The dust was thick on the ground, and steel girding jutted out of the Omega skyline. A small crowd of locals had gathered at a safe distance to watch the construction crew work. Three or four soldiers were nominally on guard duty, but they wore no helmets and spent more time cracking jokes with a few of the workers than standing sentry. Like anywhere else where there was a large collection of people, someone had figured out a way to make money. Someone had set up what looked like a makeshift hot dog stand.

"Get your turkey sandwiches. Made with real turkey!"

One of the soldiers looked longingly at the stand before his partner jabbed him in the ribs. "Don't even think about it. Petrovsky would kill us. Besides," he added with more hope than certainty, "it's probably fake."

Miranda smiled to herself and moved among the crowd. There was a curious benefit to her injury. Every other time she had been to Omega, she had attracted stares. She could use her body as a weapon, as she had during her days as a con artist, but she could never be anonymous. A crippled, scarred woman in a nondescript black blazer had the benefit of fading into the crowd and moving as she pleased. Just another victim of the violence on Omega.

"So what do you figure Cerberus' game is?" said one bystander.

"Who knows? Nobody does anything for free on Omega."

Never let it be said she passed up an opportunity to defend her employer. "Maybe they just want to make sure you have better access to water. And if this goes well, maybe they'll fix up the rest of the station."

"There's no fixing Omega. Just you wait until—"

"You'd better pay for that you little thief!"

Miranda turned her head to see what the commotion was about. A boy of nine or ten tore down the alley, sandwich in hand. The red-faced sandwich vendor kept shouting after him, but it was no use. Miranda smirked. Some things never changed.

The boy ran on, keeping his eyes on the sandwich vendor. He was less than a meter from the field that cordoned the sector off from the rest of the station. Miranda saw the spilled oil on the ground half a moment before he stepped into it. He skidded like a bad ice skater. Closer and closer he came to the wall of energy. Miranda shouted for help and tried to push her way through the crowd. Her leg throbbed in protest. Damn it! She should be able to _do_ something.

The boy froze suddenly as a sphere of biotic power enveloped him. Miranda turned around, but the Good Samaritan was nowhere in sight. One of the soldiers finally noticed what was going on and ran up to the boy. The sphere fizzled once he had the boy safely in hand. Miranda exhaled. Too close, far too close. There had to be a better way to quarantine problem areas.

There were going to be incident reports to file and safety protocols to review; and, regrettably, Miranda was the highest-ranking officer here. A few "excuse me's" and subtly showing off her cane got her to the front of the crowd. She showed her ID to the nearest guard.

His eyes popped out of his head. "Operative Lawson? I—I turned my back for just a moment and he was sliding toward the force field before I knew what happened. I'm not going to get reassigned for this, am I? I like not getting shot at."

"I very much doubt it. Is the boy all right?"

"I'm fine," he said in a small, terrified voice. "My sandwich is ruined though." He looked forlornly at the soggy remnants of bread and turkey as oil soaked through.

"You shouldn't have stolen it in the first place."

"I know." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "But I haven't had real turkey in forever. You're not going to throw me in one of the camps are you?" He shot a fearful glance at the guards. "They say that's what Cerberus does to bad people."

"Only to the very bad ones. She wished she could kneel down to his level. Henry had always loomed over her, a distant god who might exact terrible retribution for any slight at a moment's notice. She settled for putting a hand on his shoulder and hoping she projected the right combination of firm disapproval and maternal warmth. "We take little boys who shoplift back to their parents. Where are yours?"

He looked down at his feet. "They died when the adjutants came. I've got an uncle, though."

Oh. Another casualty of the stupidity on Avernus. "Take me to him. He'll be worried sick about you."

The sandwich vendor charged into view "He's not going anywhere until he pays me the credits he owes." He looked at Miranda. "Are you in charge here?"

"Regrettably."

"He stole from me! Are you going to put him in a detention camp or something?"

_Why is it that everyone has an obsession with the detention camps? Do they think we want to bring back the Bloody Code? Next, they'll expect me to order a hanging for stealing sixpence_. "I don't think that will be necessary. I think his brush with the force field taught him that stealing isn't very smart. Isn't that right?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically.

"But my credits!"

"We must be making some progress if shoplifiting is expected to be punished now," Miranda muttered. "How much does he owe you?"

"Three credits."

Miranda raised an eyebrow and fished out her credit chit. "Here you go." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "And if I were you, I wouldn't scream too loudly about shoplifting when I'm smuggling in fresh food."

The guard cleared his throat. "Do you want me to see if I can find out who put up the biotic field? There aren't any registered biotics in this sector."

"No," Miranda said quietly, looking from the boy to the vendor. "Cerberus values mercy and heroism as much as we do order. I think it's time we showed that." She took the boy by the hand and hobbled down the street.

The apartment he led her to was rundown, but cleaner that anything in this sector had a right to be. Miranda rang the doorbell and listened to the sound of soft thuds and clanks and not-so-soft curses. A heavyset man in his mid-fifties opened the door. His eyes widened when he saw the boy. "Peter? Where have you been? I was so worried about you!" He shook with a mixture of anger and terror.

Peter? His name was Peter? Miranda felt a chill wash over her. It was just a coincidence. Peter was a ridiculously common name.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Matt. I just wanted to watch them build stuff, and then I got hungry and—"

"And then you stole a sandwich and nearly ran into one of the containment fields." She turned to Peter's uncle. The anger had disappeared from his face, and terror was solidly winning. "No one was hurt and I took care of the shoplifting, but I thought the inevitable lecture would work better coming from you."

"Oh, it will," he said grimly. "Peter, go to your room. I'll be in in a minute, and you and I are going to have a very long talk about stealing." When Peter had gone, he added, "Can I offer you some water? It's the least I can do for keeping my nephew out of trouble."

Miranda licked her dry lips. Why not? It gave her an excuse to stay away from the lab and the mountain of corpses. "I'd be delighted."

The apartment was cramped, and it was only through careful maneuvering that Miranda avoided tripping over her cane as she sat on a faded couch. She sniffed. Everything smelled faintly of sawdust.

"Peter's a good kid, said Uncle Matt as he returned with the water. "It's just that between losing his mom and dad and the blockade, things have been hard."

"He mentioned he hadn't had real turkey in some time."

Uncle Matt swore. "I can't afford black market prices. Not much call for a woodcarver these days."

"You're a woodcarver?"

He shrugged. "Souvenirs for tourists, mostly. You wouldn't believe how many rich kids come here looking for a little excitement and want something to prove they made it for a week or two in the big, bad space station."

"Oh, I would believe it." The kind all too willing to believe that having dinner in a dingy club with a well-dressed brunette constituted sampling the local culture. It had been a pleasure to take their money.

"Anyway, that's all dried up now with the occupation." He looked around nervously. "But I shouldn't say anything."

"It's all right. I hardly think Cerberus is going to come crashing through your door." She had always known intellectually that the blockade would produce some hardship. But it had looked so neatly manageable on paper, with the food dispensers and minifacturing stations. But here was a human worse off than he had been before. It was unfortunate, a terrible tragedy that Cerberus should harm the very people they sought to protect through the simple facts of war. But there was nothing she could do…

Or was there? A sudden image came to her of Oleg waiting on a report from one of the techs, and moving an imaginary bishop across the desk. She smiled. She could do nothing about the war or the privations they all had to endure, but she could mitigate this one particular case of poverty. "I wonder, do you ever carve chess sets?"

* * *

Nyreen watched from a distance as the civilians Cerberus had hired continued their work. That had been close. Aria would have called her stupid for risking her cover to save a boy from the force fields. Maybe it was stupid. So was leading a resistance when the occupiers had you outnumbered and outgunned. A turian always did her duty, even if she had very different ideas on what that duty was than the rest of the Hierarchy.

Strange that Cerberus appeared to be working on legitimate infrastructure projects. Sidonis had been so sure it was a trap, maybe a means to get more subjects for the adjutant experiments. But even those had apparently died down, with the rumor now being that Petrovsky preferred execution by firing squad.

Perhaps it had something to do with the scarred woman who had arrived a few weeks earlier. Miranda Lawson. The Shadow Broker contact Nyreen used to keep her apprised of the Cerberus supply ship schedule had refused to give up information at any price. Some on the station had been more forthcoming. She had been on Omega as part of Commander Shepard's team, and had suffered some kind of injury between then and now. She was supposed to be brilliant, which meant she was probably in charge of whatever experiments threatened the civilians.

Whatever the reason, Petrovsky was providing much-needed water to the people of this sector. It didn't change anything regarding the war; this was an illegal occupation and small children shouldn't nearly get their flesh melted off because they slipped in some oil. But she would be careful to only hurt them and not the good they were doing for whatever reason.

"Boss," Terian said over her earpiece. "Grizz just showed up. He wants to talk to you.

"Spirits," she muttered. "I'll be right there."

The Talons were the largest group opposing the occupation, but not the only one. Remnants of Aria's organization had stayed behind and had rallied around her former "fixer." Nyreen hadn't been in a position to turn away help—especially help that kept them well-armed, but there were times she wished they could have left it at gun-smuggling.

Grizz was pacing furiously by the time she returned to base. "Have you seen what Cerberus is doing?"

"Building a water purification plant from looks of it."

"Turning the civilians against us, that's what they're doing! Bribing them with red sand and a few credits. If this keeps up, they aren't going to be helping us out anymore. They'll be more likely to be helping Cerberus instead and you can kiss your little rebellion goodbye."

"The people of Omega don't like being oppressed. Some might become more sympathetic to Cerberus, but as long as the force fields are up and Cerberus is doing who-knows-what in their labs then we have a power base."

"Oppression? Omegans follow whoever keeps them fed, happy, and in line. The merc bosses didn't listen to Aria because of some blather about freedom. She was the strongest and everyone followed her. Maybe it's time we remind the people how strong we are."

Nyreen narrowed her eyes, as a warning chill crept up her back. "What are you suggesting?"

"The human holiday of Armistice Day is next week. If we did something flashy like, say, taking out a few collaborators…well, it would keep Cerberus busy and teach the people that they better work with us and not them."

Ice flooded Nyreen's veins. Aria had favored lieutenants who were cruel and intelligent, but this was beyond even that. "We do not target civilians. That would make us no better than Cerberus."

"War isn't pretty. You want to win, you've got to learn to play a little rough."

He sounded so much like Aria when he said that. She had made Nyreen feel so powerful, so very useful. It had been easy to toss grenades into a clump of mercenaries who were refusing to give Aria their protection money. It would be easy to shoot a few people working on the water purification plant. It might even work in making sure that no one else was willing to work for Cerberus or pass them information. But after a while, she had started looking for excuses to kill those mercs. How long before she viewed the civilians as threats instead of people she had a duty to protect? That was why she needed rules—feelings were unreliable.

"We'll win, but we'll do it like we always have: by making sure the civilians are safe." She turned her back to Grizz. "Excuse me, I need to get to work on monitoring the detention centers."


	7. Chapter 7

_The sound of mortars peppered the air. The bird men were relentless. General Williams had ordered them into the streets in an attempt to protect the civilians, but they didn't seem to be doing much good. He'd never believed in aliens before they found the ruins on Mars, but now the bird men were here in ships larger than any nation on Earth had ever thought of building. But it was their alienness in another, more terrible sense that horrified Oleg. These creatures knew nothing of the laws or customs of war. He had seen them bombard hospitals to take out the fire team posted across the street and destroy food and water meant for school children._

_The radio crackled. "Outpost Charlie, be advised that we have lost contact with Outpost Foxtrot. Last reports are that the birds took them out and are making for your position. We have confirmation that they are carrying incendiaries. You are authorized to surrender at your discretion."_

_Oleg kept his breath even by sheer force of will. Catherine and Nikolai had taken refuge in a schoolhouse not far from Foxtrot's position. He wanted nothing more than to ask if they were safe, but he had to be Corporal Petrovsky, acting platoon commander, not Oleg the husband and father. "Negative on that. We will remain at our posts." The bird men didn't respect civilian status, why should they respect a surrender?_

_He spent the next thirty-six hours trying not to get burned to death. By the time the First Fleet showed up to relieve him, he was dead on his feet and half-dehydrated. He brushed off the praise and the orders that he eat something and used the last scrap of his strength to head over to the makeshift refugee camp in the center of New Macau._

_He rushed toward what looked like a reception desk. The woman manning it looks like she hasn't slept any better than he has. "I'm looking for a woman and a child. Catherine and Nikolai Petrovsky._

_She looked at the computer screen. Her face crumpled and then he _knew. _"I'm so sorry. We had two patients by that name. The woman didn't make it."_

_The world stopped. Catherine was dead. But Catherine couldn't be dead. They finally had enough money to afford the vacation to Paris. She was so excited to be starting work at the new community college. They had forced the bird men into a stalemate. He had done everything the garrison had asked and more._

_"And Nikolai?" There was still hope. If Nikolai was still alive, then maybe Catherine would be too. She wouldn't leave her son alone for anything._

_"He's in critical condition. The doctors say his chances aren't good." She reached over and the desk and squeezed his hand. "But there's always hope."_

_"Of course," he repeated. The words sounded as if they came from a different man, a man for whom life still made some sense. "Take me to him."_

_The little body lying on the bed couldn't be his son. He was too still. Nikolai loved to climb and swing from the monkey bars. Oleg had to bribe him to get him to go to bed. He was swathed in bandages, unrecognizable except for his thatch of dark hair on his head. Tubes stuck out from his body, and monitors beeped. _

_Oleg sunk to his knees beside the bed. Oh God, this was real. This was happening to him. "You have to wake up, Nick."_

_But Nick didn't wake up. Oleg went through the motions of identifying Catherine's body and enduring whatever plans her family decided to make. His world had narrowed to a hospital room. He brought Nikolai's stuffed bear from home. He read him his favorite stories._

_On the third day with no change, the sound of loud cheering interrupted his vigil. He rose from Nikolai's bedside, half furious and half bewildered. Why would anyone cheer? Didn't they know what he had lost, that the world was on the brink of ending?_

_An orderly filled him in. The bird men had a name—turians—and they had offered peace at the behest of something called the Council. There were more aliens out there, and they already ruled the stars._

_Oleg was still digesting all this when Nikolai's monitors began beeping frantically. Oleg screamed for a doctor and rushed back into the room. Nikolai's breathing was shallow and rapid. The doctors and nurses swarmed around Nikolai like worker ants, and Oleg was reduced to whispering prayers to every saint he could think of._ Saint Nicholas, pray for him.

_The monitor stopped beeping and became a flat monotone. Oleg pushed his way back to Nikolai's bedside. His breath was no longer shallow and rapid. His chest was utterly still. "Do something," he pleaded, not sure himself whether he was addressing the doctors or God._

_The doctors shook their heads. Hot tears sprang from his face. His son was dead. _

_Outside, the cheering continued._

Oleg took a long drink of water and tried to read. He and all but the essential staff were off duty on account of the holiday. Most had gone to the officers' or enlisted men's lounge to get drunk before the supply of alcohol ran out. Oleg had learned the hard way that it was better to stay sober. Every other day of the year, he was a man who got on with the business of living and defending the galaxy. On Armistice Day, the ghosts came for him.

No… ghost, singular. He had loved Catherine, but she had chosen to be the wife of a military man and chosen to follow him to Shanxi. Nikolai hadn't chosen anything. He hadn't even learned to read yet, still depending on Oleg's stories of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Oleg looked down at the datapad.

"_The knights in my order will ride all over the world, still dressed in steel and whacking away with their swords— that will give an outlet for wanting to whack, you understand, an outlet for what Merlyn calls the foxhunting spirit— but they will be bound to strike only on behalf of what is good, to defend virgins against Sir Bruce and to restore what has been done wrong in the past and to help the oppressed and so forth. Do you see the idea? It will be using the Might instead of fighting against it, and turning a bad thing into a good."_

_Nikolai gave him a questioning look. "What's a virgin, Daddy?"_

_Oleg bit back a curse. "Er, I'll tell you when you're older."_

_Nikolai nodded, accepting this._

Oleg turned the datapad off and shoved it into a drawer. He had told Miranda once that he tried not to hate the turians, but some days were more difficult than others.

There was a knock at the door. "It's me."

Oleg jumped, straightened his clothes, and rushed to the door. Like him, she was off duty for the day and out of uniform. Her eyes were bright, and she didn't seem to be leaning on her cane quite so heavily. One of her good mornings, then. Well, at least someone was having one. His gaze traveled to the wooden box under her free arm. "Do you need help with that?"

"It's for you. I thought you could use the distraction."

He took it from her. It was surprisingly heavy in his hands. He went to the desk and opened it. A chess set. Black's pieces were exquisitely carved, not the mass-produced junk he would find in the Omega markets, but the work of a genuine craftsman. He palmed the king, turning it over in his hand for examination. Chess was the perfect game, teaching the lessons of war in microcosm, where intellect and skill carried the day instead of brute force. His personal set was at home on Bekenstein. The mission to free Omega from the adjutants was only supposed to last few a days. He had accepted his expanded orders, but there was so much he was forced to do without. And Miranda had brought one of them back.

"I—this is marvelous. Thank you." He squinted as he realized what was missing. "But I see only one set of pieces."

Miranda smiled the same smile she wore when she was about to bend the laws of nature as she sat down opposite him. "They were carved by a local. But there are only a handful of us on this station who match you in skill, and it doesn't seem right for you to have to depend on my busy schedule to enjoy yourself. So I made a little addition." She tapped a button on the side of the board, and sixteen semisolid holograms sprang to White's defense. "Controllable either by a human player or a VI. But the wooden pieces are for you, you Luddite."

He smiled at the old insult. "I'm a traditionalist. Completely different."

"Of course it is." She pursed her lips and studied the board. "Would you care to play a game to break it in?"

Oleg stilled. There were things that even they never spoke of. The Illusive Man had been distraught at the loss of Henry Lawson's support and uncertain of Miranda's value. He had asked Oleg if it would be possible to reconcile father and daughter. Miranda had been evasive when asked what life with Henry had been like. So he had paid the Shadow Broker to tell him what had happened. The thirty-six hour training session after Miranda had lost a chess game had made a particular impression. He had reported that the differences were irreconcilable. A few weeks later, Miranda had achieved her first of many victories by rescuing him from the Blue Suns, and Henry Lawson had been all but forgotten.

"If you're sure. You don't have to do anything on my account."

"I'm offering a chess game, not an organ transplant. I promised you a distraction, remember?" Her voice softened. "And I still owe you for the chocolate."

Miranda never had been able to accept the gifts. Always bargains, potential debts that had to be repaid lest she be left weaker than when she started. Damn Henry and his manipulations. "No you don't." He smiled at her. "But I would like to play."

He set up his pieces and waited for her to make the first move. You could take a person's measure when you played against them, and he found himself unexpectedly excited at the prospect of playing against Miranda. Would she be as deliberate here as she was in the lab or would she be daring and impulsive? What gambits would she try? How would she react to him forcing her to sacrifice the piece on which her whole strategy depended?

As it turned out, Miranda was a cautious player. She left few openings, and those she did would require him to sacrifice far more than he would gain. But she also made no great offenses, never forced him to change his strategy on the fly. This was no battle; it was a siege. Victory would go to whoever had the most patience. And he was nothing if not a patient man.

Miranda moved her king's rook to threaten his king's bishop. Oleg studied the board. He could allow her to take it and then take the rook with his queen. But that would leave his other bishop vulnerable if she was aware of the vulnerability herself. And when was Miranda not aware of vulnerabilities? He retreated.

Miranda smiled, and he saw too late what he had allowed. She moved her knight. "Check."

"You clever, clever woman," he murmured.

"I thought for a moment you'd forgotten the point is to protect the king."

He stiffened and memory overtook him again.

_"So you went to all that trouble to protect the little man with the cross on his hat? But the horse is way cooler. It jumps!"_

_Oleg smiled. "But without the king the whole thing falls apart. Someday I'll teach you all about it."_

Miranda peered at him. "Are you all right?"

He shook his head to clear it and force himself back into the present. "I'm fine. Did you know that Armistice Day is called Remembrance Day in Britain? Sometimes I think that that's a more apt description."

Miranda softened and squeezed his hand. There was no pity in her eyes, no harsh insistence that he "just get over it already." No clicking her tongue and shaking her head as she waxed rhapsodic about what a poor broken man he must be. But then, if he were broken, then she was broken the same way. He preferred to think of them as scarred: the damage would always be present and visible, but the organ still worked. But sometimes when it was cold and damp or on a particular day, the scar still hurt like hell.

"May I ask you a personal question?"

Miranda frowned and turned a shade paler as if she knew what he was going to ask, but she nodded.

"How do you cope when the memories haunt you?" He sat back and waited. She was within her rights to castigate him for presuming such intimacy, but right now he wanted the reminder that he wasn't alone.

"You've had more practice than I have."

"Please, I want to know."

"All right." She exhaled. "I worked. I filled myself with so many facts, figures, and reports that I didn't have room to think of what I'd lost. When that didn't work, I tried not to think at all." She swallowed, and her voice trembled. "Just after… just after it happened, I got high on Hallex. Once was enough to convince me I never wanted to do it again. And there are other ways to flood yourself with endorphins and drive out the grief for a little while. Most of them are even good for their own sake."

She looked at him. Her eyes were dark like space, promising a thousand things that he wasn't sure he wanted to know about. "I can make you forget for a little while. Your body likes sex no matter what the mind thinks, and this is better than with strangers."

"Are you suggesting pity sex?"

"I'm suggesting that I can help you for a little while. It beats getting drunk, I assure you"

He cursed. It was one thing to indulge their mutual lust for the fun of it. It was another thing entirely to use her to blot out the memories of his son. But it would be so nice to feel pleasure instead of these echoes of grief. "Are you up to it?"

"It's been a good morning."

"That's not what I asked."

"I like doing this with you. And in our particular line of work that's not always a luxury I get." Her voice dropped to a low, sibilant whisper. "Let me repay a few of those favors I owe you."

He was going to hell for this. "Do as you please with me, my dear."

There was none of her usual playfulness or teasing as she ordered him to lean against the wall. She closed her eyes, and a biotic glow enveloped her hand. Ever since their first night together, this had always been foreplay, priming him to readiness before he took her. The first stroke was a light caress that made him twitch. Gradually, she picked up the pace, her phantom fingers insistent in a way those of flesh could never be. Sparks raced through him, up from his cock all the way to his brain. His mind fractured. Not broken, not yet. He could still force himself to look at her dark eyes intent on his own and watch as her mouth parted slightly, but he could feel his control slipping away.

"Stop," he croaked.

She didn't.

"If you don't, I won't be able to control myself. I'll be useless for you."

She laughed, and the sound sent a shiver up his spine. "Don't you get it? This is about you, not me. Just relax and enjoy yourself."

She resumed her ministrations. The powers of speech left him, and he was helpless to resist her. She brought him to the brink again and again. His breathing came in harsh gasps. And still she looked at him with that calculating gaze. He didn't know what to make of this strange mixture of wild abandon and cool precision. In the end, all he could do was grunt as his climax finally overtook him.

And there were no more ghosts.

He slumped against the wall. His limbs were pleasantly heavy, and he was too tired and satisfied to care about how ridiculous he must look with his fly undone. Miranda was still immaculate and smiling as if she had re-created the Lazarus Project all by herself. "Feeling any better?"

"Much." At last some sense of responsibility penetrated his lust-addled mind. "I should have done something for you."

"You can make it up to me later. This was for you."

"No." He crossed to her on unsteady legs and pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips were warm and soft. He grabbed the nearest pillow and Miranda ran her hands over his chest and acquiescence. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll make it up to you now. I might be a bit spent at the moment but…" He couldn't hide a satisfied smile of his own. "…a good officer makes do with what he has."

Miranda wasn't the only one who couldn't accept a gift.

He held her afterwards. He wondered when the novelty of a warm and happy Miranda curled up next to him would wear off. He had seen to his needs discreetly in the years after Catherine's death with fellow operatives or by making arrangements through one of the extranet sites designed for such a purpose. Sometimes it was simply two people satisfying a physical urge and sometimes, as now, sex was sweetened by friendship and affection. But Miranda was… different. Not in the stupid ways poets talked about when they blathered about soulmates and other nonsense. There was always some new facet to explore, a new way to make her sigh or some detail he hadn't noticed. Her scars being a little paler and more ragged on the left end, for instance. His fingers played across the rough edges of her scars. Miranda no longer flinched when did. He chose to take that as a small victory.

"Sometimes, I think you really do have a scar fetish," she murmured. "I really should get them looked at by a proper plastic surgeon."

"You could have done that months ago." He kissed her forehead.

"Waste medical supplies and take myself out of action for weeks for an elective surgery when the Reapers could be at our door and any moment? I'm not that vain or that selfish."

The damned Reapers colored everything and they weren't even here yet. He stroked her shoulders. "Rationing every scrap of medigel and waiting for a war to begin. It can't be the life you imagined."

"And somehow I doubt trying to impose law and order on Omega was what you had in mind when you enlisted." She ran her fingers over his chest. "Maybe you should have stayed in the Alliance. You'd be running things by now. Or insane from having to deal with all the petty bickering."

"Insane. I would definitely be insane. I wouldn't trade this for anything. A chance to finally do some good on Omega. Though sometimes I do wonder what would have happened if I had only been disgusted enough to resign my commission instead of joining Cerberus."

"And what would have happened?"

He supposed there was no harm in telling her. "I would have gone to the colonies. Horizon or Ferris Fields. The militias are in terrible shape: either a few men who were mostly hunters and old mechs or private security companies who only defend the wealthy. They deserve good defense without the bureaucracy of the Alliance." Perhaps he could even persuade the colonial government to do something about the poor infrastructure. And he could stay somewhere for more than a few weeks at a time. Perhaps he would even have a dog again. It would be a good way to spend his rapidly-approaching retirement. To preserve instead of destroy. "And I would like to see Jake more than once a year."

"Does Michael still think you run a mercenary company?"

"And then I'm dishonoring everyone that died in New Macau? Yes." Some sacrifices stung more than others. "But I can gladly stand him despising me if it means he survives this war." He wondered which of them had the worse hand: a brother that despised him or a sister who didn't even know she existed. It was impolite to ask, so he did what he always did when the conversation was in danger of entering rocky ground: he changed the subject. "So tell me, what would you be during if you hadn't joined Cerberus?"

"You know the answer. And I'd probably be dead trying to get Oriana out by myself."

"No, none of that. Let's stipulate that Henry choked on an oyster the day before you left home. What would the brilliant and fascinating Ms. Lawson be doing with her life?"

"I—I never really thought about it. I've spent my whole life in Cerberus." She burrowed against him. "I hope I'd still use these bloody genes for something useful. No working with the Alliance, though. I couldn't possibly stand all the red tape. Let's see. I think I'd steal Lawson Biomedical from whoever Father decided was a decent heir. My God, he probably would have left it to Dr. Llewellyn. She'd run the place into the ground. I'd definitely have to steal it. For the good of humanity."

"And just like that, you'd become the richest woman in the galaxy," he said with a smile. "Well played, my dear. Much better than trying to herd cats in the colonies."

She made a scoffing noise in the back of her throat. "You think I'd go to all that trouble just for money? Father has facilities that rival anything I've had working for Cerberus. And he doesn't have to worry about a squad of marines kicking down his door and ruining all his samples. With resources like that, I might even be able to mass-produce some of the Lazarus work. Not the whole thing, but even a fraction of what we discovered could have done for medicine what the relays did for space travel."

"So you'd be doing exactly what you are now except you'd be able to make better copies. I suppose some people really do have callings."

"It's a foolish idea, anyway. I'll always be what I am: an operative working in the shadows." A hint of bitterness crept into her voice.

"You want recognition?"

"No. I can go without credit. I just… I'd like something permanent and to stop sleeping with a gun under my pillow."

_I'm permanent,_ he wanted to say but didn't. Because the truth was that he wasn't. Another of the sacrifices he and Miranda made in service to humanity.

His comm rang. Oleg jumped from bed, instantly alert. No one would dare call him on the holiday for anything except the direst emergency. His anxiety was mirrored on Miranda's face. He mentally ran through possible scenarios, each worse than the last. A riot in one of the wards. The Talons striking a major checkpoint. Another adjutant escape. He picked up the comm.

North's voice was grim. "They bombed the purification plant. The whole thing's been leveled."

"Leveled?" He felt as if he were standing in an airlock with only the flimsiest kinetic barrier preventing him from being sucked into space. "How many casualties?"

"Three civilians that we know about. Who knows how many people trapped in the debris."

"I want all available units assisting with rescue and containment. All the sober ones, in any case. Inform Walker, Barrington and the rest of the medically-qualified staff that they are being recalled to provide emergency care as needed. I'll be on site as soon as I can to assist."

He turned off the comm. Miranda was already awkwardly throwing on her clothes as quickly as she could. "I'll head to the med center."

"No." He forced himself to keep his voice even, forced himself to think only in terms of the most effective response. He could feel later. "I want you assisting the codebreaking and surveillance team. I don't know who's responsible, but I'm betting that the Talon comm channels are going to be busier than they have been in some time."


	8. Chapter 8

"What the hell did you do, Grizz?" The anger coursed through Nyreen like Cipritine Whiskey. It would be far too easy to toss him out the nearest window and let the maintenance crews scrape what was left of him off the sidewalk. The knowledge that Aria would be proud was the only thing preventing her. She took a deep breath and counted to twenty in her head.

"I did what you were too scared to do," he said. "I've got Cerberus running around in a panic. I did in three hours what you couldn't do in three months."

"You killed civilians."

"I killed people collaborating with the occupation." His eyes narrowed, and his voice was like acid. "Or did you spend so much time in the Cabals that you forgot how war works? When I was a private, my unit responded to the Relay 314 Incident. The only thing those humans respected was when we took the fight to the cities. Wars like this, there's no such thing as a noncombatant."

"There are always noncombatants." Nyreen had been too young to be deployed to Shanxi, but her father had served as a captain in the artillery. He had come back a quieter, more solemn man. On the day she had graduated from boot camp, he had taken her aside and told her about the civilian structures they had bombed. The aliens weren't like turians and their noncombatants had been wholly unprepared to fight. Some had rushed out onto the streets, their clothing still on fire. A child had toddled toward his mother, only to be hit by falling masonry. He had made Nyreen promise to always be more careful than he had been. "I ought to get a message to Petrovsky. Tell him you did this and where you are."

His mandibles flared, and his eyes glittered. Nyreen had seen that look often enough on Aria's face when she had someone cornered during negotiation. "No, you're not. I'm giving you a golden opportunity here. While Cerberus is running around like the idiots they are, trying to figure out who did this, you have free reign to cause as much trouble for them as you need to. Now's your chance to push them back."

And like Aria, Grizz had the infuriating habit of being right. The Talons had been gaining strength among the nonhumans in the Gozu District. Now was a chance to strike at some of the checkpoints and give them freedom to move. If they were lucky, they might even be able to damage the forcefields. "Don't you ever do anything like this again, or you will wish that it was Cerberus that found you."

Grizz nodded and sauntered out of the room. Nyreen let him go and walked to her command station. A few taps of her omni-tool brought up a holographic map of the Gozu District. "Attack Team A, we're going hunting." Spirits, she hoped what they gained from this was worth those lives.

* * *

The security footage had no audio, but Oleg could imagine the groaning of metal and the roar of force as fire consumed the superstructure of the plant and sent debris into the station's atmosphere. It was past midnight and he was no closer to finding out who did this or how than he was when North called him. North himself bent over the console, lines of exhaustion forming on his face.

"Casualties are up to seven. Med center's reporting we lost another one." He shook his head. "Damn Talons. All Kandros' talk about protecting civilians, and when their backs are against the wall, she lashes out!"

"We don't know who's responsible. It's dangerous to presume." And, in a strange way, he didn't want Kandros to be responsible. A man was defined by his enemies. The stronger and more virtuous they were, the more he could be sure of his own rightness. Kandros was an excellent soldier. He would have been honored to serve with her under other circumstances. The thought that she would resort to terrorism dishonored them both.

"It's not the Talons," Miranda said as she hobbled through the door. She was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Oleg stared at the brace. She'd been at her station for hours. How much longer could she work before pain forced her to give up? He ought to have insisted she go to bed hours ago, but right now he needed someone to tap into Talon communications more than he needed her pain-free. She slumped into the nearest chair. "You were right. Their comm channels are on fire. They're talking about 'exploiting the opportunity our friend gave us.' And it sounds like Kandros is extremely irritable at the moment. I believe I picked up a few new turian epithets."

"Can you tell us who is responsible?"

"No, but I am getting chatter, They're planning something in the Gozu District. I'm a bit fuzzy on what at the moment, but I'll crack it."

"An uprising! That's just what we need. We're shorthanded as it is." North shot him a half-pleading, half-accusing look. "Any chance of getting reinforcements from the Illusive Man?"

Oleg shook his head. "His terms are the same as ever." He ran his fingers through his hair. "We must do something. Seven humans have been murdered and Kandros thinks she can use the opportunity to humiliate us." A sound strategy on her part. He would have to devote men to cleanup that would otherwise be patrolling the streets.

"We need to crack down before they get a chance to," North said. "We know that the Talons—and probably their 'friend' who pulled this off—draw their support from the nonhuman population. If we send out a general order that all nonhumans are prohibited from carrying weapons of any kind and that they aren't allowed to be out of their assigned areas without human supervision, that'll cut the Talons off at the knees."

"And it will cause a great deal of inconvenience and suffering to thousands of people who had nothing to do with this attack."

"Have you got any better ideas?"

No, he didn't. North was right. This would severely hamper Talon movement and cut down on any incidental crimes that would stretch his forces while they hunted those responsible for the bombing. Even the freest societies knew that sometimes liberty must be curtailed for the sake of the greater good. The Romans had created the post of dictator. Lincoln suspended habeas corpus. And Omega was hardly free at the best of times. He would do what was necessary to protect the safety of all. He would find these murderers, and he would visit swift justice upon them.

"Have you lost your mind?" Miranda's voice was weak, but she spoke crisply and slowly. "You might as well sponsor the Talon recruiting drive yourself."

"So, they'll hate us. I can live with that. It's not like your precious husk research is paying off at all. And since the general here is too old-fashioned to get implants so we can actually get the reinforcements to do our—" North's head snapped up. "Wait a minute. What if _we_ got some reinforcements?" For the first time since his posting here, he looked enthusiastic. His dark eyes were clear and bright. "I know you don't think much of mercenaries, but they aren't always crime syndicates like the Suns. If we can hire them to do routine patrol and all the other boring crap, then we can spend our time hunting down Talons."

"It's…not a bad plan," Miranda said slowly. "The trouble would be finding a company willing to work with Cerberus on Omega. I can bury the cost in my budget if it comes to that, but most of the people willing to work with us _are_ glorified crime syndicates." She inclined her head in Oleg's direction. "Which is counterproductive to our goal of maintaining order."

"There's Blackstone. They'll work anywhere. And they are absolute professionals. I almost joined them myself."

Miranda turned paler at the mention of Blackstone. Oleg felt sweat form on his palms. "Absolutely not," they said simultaneously.

North expression changed from triumph to bewilderment, and Oleg felt a twinge of pity. "Blackstone isowned by the Artemis Group. The majority shareholder is Henry Lawson."

North looked at Miranda, understanding dawning in his eyes. "You're Henry Lawson's daughter?"

"Biologically. And let's say he doesn't approve of my career choice. He would side with the Talons purely to spite me."

"So we're back to the curfews and weapons bans."

"So it would seem." It wasn't North's fault. It wasn't his fault. It was simply an unfortunate measure that had to be taken to keep the peace. In time, the bomber would be caught and everything we go back to normal. Omegans might even thank him for it. Simply an unfortunate measure. If it didn't spark a full-scale revolution.

"Sure, if you want to play right into the Talon's hands," said Patriarch as he sauntered through the door. "You Cerberus types already have a reputation as wanting to slit the throats of anybody that isn't your own species. This would prove it."

"Who invited you?" North asked with a scowl.

"I was retained as an advisor. I'm advising." He turned his gaze to Oleg. "Beefing up security isn't a bad idea. People are going to be scared after this. Murder is nothing, but nobody's set off a bomb on Omega in over a century. But if you want to sell it as a security measure, you're going to have to do it to everyone. Humans included."

"Which will weaken our sole base of support," Oleg reminded him. "But Kandros won't be able to use race as a factor in recruiting. We shall be absolutely fair in our application of the security measures. And they will see that we have no interest in oppression, only in maintaining order."

"Good man."

"Humans won't take kindly not being able to go anywhere without an escort," North said.

"Then maybe we don't need to implement that particular security measure. Absolute fairness. I want a buyback program instituted for all firearms, combat knives, and anything that can be used to make explosives. Anyone found with these items after the next fifteen days will go to the detention camps for an indefinite period of time."

The wheels turned in his head. They had the stick, but there must also be a carrot to go with it. He must prove to the bomber and to Kandros that he would not be cowed. "And announce that we will be continuing our infrastructure plans. As soon as the debris is cleaned up, we'll resume work on the purification plant. We'll also be taking recommendations for other projects from the citizens of various districts, human and otherwise. Dismissed."

Miranda was the last to leave. "You should be in bed, my dear. You'll exhaust yourself and have a flareup."

"We all have to do our duty, no matter the cost," she said with such casualness that Oleg hardly knew whether to smile or hug her. "Though I'd say you almost did more than your duty."

"North's suggestions, you mean? Yes, that would have been a disaster. A very seductive disaster." It was frightening sometimes. He preferred to think of himself as a good man who obeyed the laws and customs of war, but he had almost committed the same sort of oppression Cerberus was supposed to stand against and almost without thinking about it. Here was a threat. Here was the most obvious way to end the threat. "Let's see what Omega makes of there being one law for all of them. And see that Patriarch gets some decent alcohol."

"And North's other suggestion? He was right about that much you know. Blackstone would help you tremendously. If I weren't here."

"But you are here and immensely valuable to the mission." He took her hands in his and planted a kiss to her palm. _And to me._ "I'll talk to the techs again. If the mechs can be programmed not to confuse trash and actual weapons, then we'll have the police force we need." He squeezed her hands. "And before you know it, you'll be plotting how to steal Blackstone from Henry."

* * *

"May I again state my objection to this, sir?" North's anxiety sounded genuine. Oleg wasn't sure whether to be insulted or touched. "If the mechs go crazy, you'll be in the firing line."

"It's theatre," Oleg said. His gaze went to the omni-present camera drones. Every citizen on Omega would see him commanding mechs moving with a precision that organics could never match. And, if Kandros decided to show herself, then he would be on hand to take up pursuit. "I'll be fine."

The Gozu district was cleaner than it had been a few weeks earlier, but that had come at the cost of liveliness. Shops were shuttered closed, and the people who did mill about on the streets seemed quieter. He frowned. It was a foreseeable consequence of the curfews he had imposed, but the station should have more life than this. Their mystery bomber would have much to answer for. A few turians eyed the mechs warily, but none dared approach.

There was shouting in the distance. Ah, perhaps things were not so quiet as they appeared. He order his patrol team and accompanying mechs forward. By the time they got there, one batarian had picked another up by the shirt collar. "Don't lie to me, Kalask. I saw you with her!"

Ah, the oldest story in the galaxy. And perfect for testing out the mech's containment capability. He signaled for his men to stay back while the two mechs went on ahead. They advanced slowly and deliberately until they were almost on top of the irate batarian. "Desist. You are disturbing the peace of the station."

"Make me, tin can."

Oleg stilled. Another incident like the one at the food dispenser could spark a riot that would make the Nika Revolt look absolutely peaceful. The mech's eyes began to glow more brightly as it emitted a cloud of blue vapor. The batarian fell to his knees as he began to cough. "What did you do to me? Can't…breathe."

Oleg exhaled. "Containment test passed with flying colors." He approached batarian as he continued to cough and splutter on the ground. "It's a new compound, quite similar to pepper spray, but safer for other species. You'll be fine in half an hour. Now get up and get out of here before I'm forced to arrest you for attempted assault. And do try to control your temper in the future."

The batarian hauled himself to his feet and scampered off. "North, make sure the drones picked that up. I want it on tonight's broadcast. From now on, we have the capacity to deal with even these minor disturbances and—"

"Sir!" North cut in, his voice edged with anxiety. "Intel is reporting sightings of Target Alpha near your location. I don't have confirmation yet, but it seems like she has a squad with her."

"Then let's go confirm it." His mind whirred. If it were only a handful of Talons, then they would want to keep their strike swift and surgical before retreating back the way they came. And there was only one way to safely move unseen through the area. "I want the mechs here and all those from Charlie company deployed to the tunnels."

"But sir, I thought we were supposed to test how they fight?"

"No, we're testing how effective they are." And if he knew Kandros' code of ethics as well as he believed, then the mechs would be more effective at capturing the Talons than any human squad ever could be. "The rest of you, with me."

They came to the Kokomo Plaza. The old Blue Suns symbols had been taken down, but otherwise it looked much the same as it had when he had come here. There was no sign of the Talons. "Spread out and secure the perimeter. They're here somewhere."

If he were a guerilla, where would he hide? Down here, the pillars and various assorted structures provided more than adequate cover, but also impaired line of sight. Surprise would be critical. Ideally, he would want to have the high ground to achieve an uninterrupted view of the plaza. His gaze drifted to a nearby balcony. Of course. "Move to—" Something red glinted in the upper story window. A spotting laser. "Duck!"

The bullet missed him by inches, and the battle began in earnest. This was the part of war he hated most. There were no grand strategies or larger objectives, merely the desperate fight to kill the other man before he killed you. Just like New Macau. At least there was no mortar fire this time.

The grenades fell as if to mock him. He dove behind cover at the last moment, but two members of the fireteam weren't so lucky. A biotic field lifted them in the air just as the adjutant lifted Rolston before, slamming them onto the concrete with a sickening thud. A figure in the red and gold armor of the Talons strode forward. Kandros had taken the field.

She moved with an easy fluidity more at home with at the ballet than the battlefield as she fired her pistol. One man went down, then another. Ten meters away, two other turians were engaged in a gun battle with Matthews and Hadley. Oleg signaled for the remainder of his team to concentrate on them while he circled around behind.

Kandros' responded as expected. She made for the besieged turian and threw herself in front of the bullets. Her biotic sphere ensured the bullets bounced off harmlessly, but an enemy who was defending, was one that wasn't attacking. And now to press his advantage. Time and patience were the greatest warriors, but fear was a potent weapon.

He switched on his comm. "This is General Petrovsky. We are facing heavy resistance in the Kokomo District. Tell Operative Lawson that the adjutants are going to have to be released sooner than planned."

"Sir?"

"Just relay the message. I need those adjutants down here ASAP." And, if the Talons had been as thorough at cracking their encryption as he thought they were, then the Talons would be hearing it very shortly.

They had. Nyreen stiffened visibly. "Fall back. We can't let those things hurt the civilians."

And into the tunnels they vanished. Check, Kandros. "North, are the mechs in position?

"Affirmative. And I've got a few panicky troops here. They're scared of another Rolston incident. I'm having to threaten them with court-martial. Lawson looks like the cat that got the canary, though."

Because she knows me. "I want all sensors on those tunnels. If this is going to work I need a real time map of Kandros' location."

"She's heading for….let me see…Sector 343."

Oleg unbuckled the sphere from his belt. The communications drone zoomed after the Talons. Check, Kandros.

The tunnels were an inescapable maze unless you possessed either the knowledge of a native or extensive monitoring equipment. Steam choked the air. He maneuvered down the tunnels and watched on his omni-tool as the red dots representing the fleeing Talons split off into two groups. Five dots with east. One went west. He followed the one going west.

Kandros stood in a large, open area that formed part of the station's ventilation system. She was covered in dust and panting heavily. Ahead of her, the mechs stood silent and waiting. She readied a grenade.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said as his image materialized. "Their heat-dispersal sinks are highly flammable. If you set off an explosion in here, the blast will be fatal. More to the point, you will damage the life-support systems in this district. We'll get them repaired eventually, but I won't be responsible for any casualties."

"Let me go, Petrovsky. Someone needs to protect Omega from those adjutants. You don't have them under control as well as you think you do." He saw the exact moment she understood what had happened. Her eyes widened in recognition. "There never were any adjutants, were there?"

"I would never endanger this station by using a weapon I didn't have control over. It may astonish you to learn this, but I do have some care for your precious civilians. I only want an orderly and safe Omega."

"It looks more like a police state to me."

"An unfortunate consequence of your bomber friend." He extended a hand toward her. "If your concern for the people of this station is as great as you claim, then he should be your priority. Seven civilians murdered for no better reason than that they wanted jobs."

A wealth of emotion flickered across her face. Guilt, anger, doubt. Oleg pressed his advantage home. "Give me his name and throw down your weapon, and I'll extend the same amnesty offer to you as I did your subordinates. There will be no punishment of any kind. Otherwise…" The Ramparts advanced on her.

"I won't give up until Omega is free." And with that, she ran back the way she came.

"But you'll let a terrorist walk free." He recalled the sphere. "Deploy all available mechs to Sector 343. I want all known exits blocked." And even if Kandros slipped through his fingers again, well, he had given her something to think about. Victory began with a single chink in the armor.

"Aye, aye, sir." North could barely contain his excitement. "We did manage to capture three of the other Talons. Feels so good to finally get one over on them for a change."

"Don't get cocky. This is a battle, not the war. Have them moved to a detainment center for interrogation. With any luck, they can tell us what else Kandros is planning and perhaps give us intelligence on the bombing."

By the time he got back to base Miranda was waiting for him. She was grinning, once more the arrogant young girl who cheerfully fleeced rich idiots. "Good job bluffing Kandros. Though I'm afraid some of the staff was fooled as well. Dr. Walker seemed rather disappointed. He so wanted to test out his new toys."

Oleg raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

"Yes, he's convinced that—"

Chambers walked through the door. "Excuse me. There's a man outside waiting to see Operative Lawson."

"Tell him to come back later. The security of the station is very fragile at the moment."

"I tried, but he says he thinks he has information about whoever blew up the purification plant. And he said he would only tell you."

Oleg looked at Miranda. She shrugged. "Show him in."

Hadley and Matthews followed a few minutes later, escorting a middle-aged dark-haired man that Oleg had never seen before. But Miranda's eyes lit up in recognition. "Matt the woodcarver. What's this about information?"

"Is he safe?" He jerked his thumb toward Oleg. "Some of the Cerberus troops can be real blabbermouths, and if word gets out I'm talking to you—" He wiped sweat from his brow with trembling hands. "—I just want Peter not to have to worry about some crazy with a bomb. He's been having nightmares."

"I assure you I'm safe, as you put it. What you say will go no farther than this room."

"Well, maybe it was nothing, but I think I might've saw a couple of turians skulking around the district. I remember thinking it was weird because we hardly ever saw turians even before the force fields went up. One of them had this really flashy omni-tool."

Miranda leaned forward in her chair. "If I set you up with a sketch artist, you think you could describe these turians well enough to help us create a wanted poster?"

"Sure, I guess." He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at the floor. "Is there some kind of reward for all this? I mean, those turians will kill me if they find out I was talking to you."

Oleg sighed. Money. It always came down to money on Omega. "How much do you want?"

He shook his head. "I don't want credits, and I don't want it for me. I know you get supplies from the outside. The education modules here on the station are crap, and I want Peter to have a real top-flight education. Maybe be able to get off this rock someday." His expression turned pleading. "Please. It's all I can give him."

_Catherine thrust the brochure into his hands. "If we can get Nikolai into Salendale, his chances of qualifying for a decent private school will triple. And if he gets into a privte school, he might end up going to Harvard or Cambridge instead of some lousy state school in Missouri like I did."_

"I understand. He'll get everything he needs. Just help us catch this madman."


	9. Chapter 9

The adjutant collapsed as the gas filled the containment unit. Miranda narrowed her eyes. At least nobody had gotten killed this time. It would be impolite to gloat, but considering her company… "I told you it wouldn't work."

Walker at least had the decency to look embarrassed. "The models were perfect. Sufficient doses of red sand should have rendered the adjutant's susceptible to our commands."

"Even batarians don't get high off red sand. Why should it do anything to an adjutant?"

"We do have precedent for red sand making subjects more susceptible to Reaper technology." He stroked his chin. "If we dosed a subject before conversion, then that might make them more susceptible to following our commands afterwards." His smile was large and a shade too ingratiating. "Building off your attempts to manipulate husk hormone levels."

Miranda bristled. "Spare me the flattery. And what happens when the red sand is metabolized? You'd need an alternate means of manipulating their biochemistry." The idea hit her like lightning and she shivered. "Nyarlathotep. " If she implanted them with a control chip before transformation, she would have complete control over their neural activity during and after the transition to the adjutant state. And if she could control them so absolutely, if the Reapers weren't allowed dominance for even a single moment, then she might be able to create the used shock troops.

All she had to do was follow neatly in her father's footsteps. "I'll consider it. For now just—"

Chambers cut in. "Dr. Abrams wants to talk to you again, Operative Lawson. He says it's urgent."

"Patch him through." Even the direst medical emergency was preferable to dealing with the control chip technology at the moment, and it would give her much needed time to think. That was Walker's problem: he seized on an idea with the tenacity of a dog with a bone and never used his considerable intellect to ponder the difficulties until it was too late.

Abrams face was ashen, and cold sweat formed on Miranda's palms. "A kid was shot in the Beta Sector. Peter Lindquist. His uncle's ranting and raving, asking for you. Says it's all your fault."

No. No. It couldn't be the same Peter. It was a coincidence, like Peter also being the name of her son. There were thousands of Peter's on Omega. "Is the uncle a woodcarver?" Abrams nodded. So much for hope. The floor seemed to shift under her and Miranda sank into the nearest chair. "How bad is it?"

"One of the bullets grazed the spinal column between the third and fourth vertebrae. I think I can repair the damage, but that's not the big problem. He lost a lot of blood. He's Oh, so…"

"… So you can't find a donor and you can't synthesize it, because no one actually knows how to synthesize Bombay blood." Her heart hammered. John had that blood type, and the inability to synthesize blood for him had initially created a significant hurdle for the Lazarus Project.

"I don't know how, no." He looked at her, pleading. "But you do, don't you? Cerberus, I mean. Mordin wrote to me sometimes about what he was doing. Nothing huge, but he mentioned Commander Shepard needing a blood transfusion after something. I looked up his medical records. Unless he's the luckiest man in the galaxy, you know how to synthesize that blood."

He was right, damn him. She and Wilson had spent three painstaking months developing the process. It wasn't black box technology like so many of John's implants. But the procedure had never been replicated as far as she knew. It had been complex and dependent on several classified Alliance and STG files Wilson had acquired for her. The Illusive Man had judged it too risky to pass along through one of Cerberus' legitimate biomedical companies. "I can't talk about anything classified that we may or may not have produced."

"That's the same thing as saying you have it. Would you just come down here and talk to the family? I'd rather not have to throw the boy's uncle out under the circumstances, but he's creating a public disturbance. Maybe you can calm him down."

"You're trying to manipulate me into synthesizing the blood, aren't you? Mordin would be proud of you. I'll be down there as soon as I can."

Walker watched her with a raised eyebrow. "The Illusive Man isn't going to be happy if you start spreading around classified tech."

"I'm not 'spreading it around'. But the boy may have been injured as retaliation for help his uncle gave us. The least I can do is go up there and let the uncle yell at me for a few minutes."

The Omega Clinic was less crowded than the last time she had been here. A turian with his arm in a sling, a batarian with a bandaged head. No one paid her any attention; they probably thought she was another patient. She went down the hall and to the left where Mordin had once kept his most serious cases. This room was a little smaller than most, with space for three beds instead of the usual five. But at the moment there was only one occupant.

Peter's dark hair was matted to his scalp, his eyes were closed, but the stiffness of the muscles in his face belied any suggestion of peaceful sleep. The heart monitor beeped frantically. Matt the Woodcarver sat in the room's only chair. His eyes were red from crying, and he looked as if he hadn't slept since Miranda had spoken with him. She couldn't take her eyes from him. Peter was just another broken and battered child. You went mad in her line of work if you obsessed every time you saw a child who had been hurt. But Matt… she knew that haunted and helpless look.

"You did this to him!" he rasped, as if he had shouted himself hoarse and could no longer manage anything above a whisper. "The turians came for him because I helped you. You promised he would be safe."

She hadn't promised that, exactly, but now wasn't the time for that. John would have been so much better at sympathy. "I'm sorry. I promise you we'll do everything we can to catch these monsters."

"I don't care about that. I just want Peter to wake up."

Of course he did. "Do you want them to kill more children? The turians will just keep coming for more and more people unless we stop them. If you can tell us anything—"

He laughed, but it was the raspy choking laugh of a man who had lost everything and had nothing else left but madness. "You want me to help you? This is your fault in the first place! Your adjutants killed my brother and his wife. The turians are only fighting because you're on this station in the first place. Say what you want about Aria, but I never had to worry about my family getting killed."

"Go home and get some rest," said Oleg from the door. He strode forward to stand beside Miranda. His gaze was intent on Matt. "You'll do yourself and your nephew harm if you continue like this. I promise we'll do everything we can to save the boy. He was injured because of Cerberus, and we will treat him as one of our own." His voice dropped to a whisper. "You've heard the rumors that we raised Commander Shepard from the dead? I assure you that those rumors are true."

"You did? You would do that for Peter?" Oleg didn't say anything, but hope blazed through Matt's eyes like a wildfire "You could make sure he lives through this."

"Yes, he could live through this," Miranda said slowly. Anything to calm the man down.

"Thank you!" He threw his arms around Miranda with enough force that she was nearly knocked off balance.

She disentangled herself with as much grace as she could muster. "But you need to go home and get some sleep like the general asks. We'll call you if there are any changes in his condition."

"I'll do my best." He left, and they were alone with Peter.

Oleg approached the bed slowly and took one of the boy's hands in his. Miranda didn't have to ask who he was thinking about. Strange how the loss of children threaded through their lives like a strand in a malignant tapestry. Ten years ago she had been in a hospital room, still exhausted and sore from giving birth as she watched her son fight for life in a Citadel NICU. There had been no turians to blame. Just an errant strand of DNA that had given her Peter a congenital heart defect. No one's fault, except maybe Henry's, for creating designer genes that threw off the results of the normal screenings.

"You know the Lazarus data was lost," she said at last. "If the boy dies, he stays dead."

"Everyone fights better when they have some hope, whether they be soldiers or grieving uncles. I suspect he'll turn up at the nearest outpost, ready to help however he can. Besides, I understand from Dr. Walker that we can save the boy."

"Technically, yes. But it would involve significant resources and turning over classified tech."

"How many resources?" He wasn't her lover now, or even the general of the occupying forces, but her long ago superior officer who wanted to know how long they could afford to hold out for reinforcements against the slavers who were firing on their ship.

"A few thousand credits, and I'd have to pull Barrington and some of the other staff off the project. The base compound is used when cloning limbs, so we'd be in trouble if any of our men needed amputation before Cerberus Command resupplied us. And there is the small problem that no one outside of Cerberus is supposed to know we have the technology. I don't think the Illusive Man would appreciate it."

"Centuries ago, an American philanthropist said that the law was made for man and not man for the law. I believe the Illusive Man would understand." But Oleg's voice was a bit too honeyed. Even he doubted. It was one boy. One boy out of millions of boys that died every day and that they did nothing about. On paper, it made infinitely more sense to simply let Peter die and apologize to his uncle.

"Do you think we can spare it?"

"It's the old ethics problem. Do you allow the certain, small calamity to prevent the uncertain but infinitely larger one? I would like to save the boy. Here is a human actually in distress. We are tasked with helping humans."

"And because it's a chance Nikolai never had." Or my Peter either. She looked at Matt. _I know what you're thinking now. You would let the galaxy burn if only he would live._ She swallowed. _If it were Oriana or Oleg in that bed, I'd find a loophole. What happened to one law for everyone?_

He bowed his head. "Yes," he whispered.

She looked at Peter. He looked so terribly small in the bed. If he were fortunate he might survive another day or two. At worst he would be dead by morning. And Matt would have that malignant thread running through his life just as she and Oleg did. Damn it. "Dr. Abrams already suspects we can do it. If we keep him and the uncle in the dark about how it works, then we aren't divulging any secrets. It'll just be a miracle cure. Cerberus saving the innocent human child after turians attempted to murder him. It could be invaluable for propaganda purposes."

"A variation on the hearts and minds strategy. Yes, that would work. Now all we need is a puppy." He squeezed Peter's hand. "You'll make it young man. The finest doctor in the galaxy is taking your case."

* * *

Dr. Abrams grinned as if he had won the lottery. "The kid's been in and out of it, but his vitals are strong. He'll live. Though I don't appreciate your team throwing me out of my own clinic."

Miranda suppressed a smile of her own. "It was necessary to preserve operational security. May I see the boy?"

"Petrovsky's in with him and his uncle now. Tell him not to stay too long. The kid still has a long way to go." He shook her free hand, "Thank you."

The color had come back to Peter's cheeks, and he was surrounded by pillows, looking rather like an island of flesh in a sea of marshmallows. His eyes were clouded with painkillers, but his eyes were open. His uncle knelt at his bedside, tears streaming down his face. Oleg stood at parade rest on the other side. And a camera drone hovered inconspicuously nearby, ready to broadcast the heartwarming scene to the rest of the station.

Matt looked up at her. "Thank you. If there's anything Peter or I can do for you, just say the word."

"Just seeing that the boy gets the rest he needs." Oleg looked at the camera drone. "And remember that it was Cerberus that saved your nephew and those terrorists who almost killed him. Today was a miracle of science, but the next victim may not be so fortunate. Any assistance you can offer would be greatly appreciated." He put a hand on Peter's shoulder. "If there's anything you or the boy need, let me know."

"There is something I'd like, sir," Peter whispered. "I saw the chess set Uncle Matt carved for you. He said all the black pieces were controlled by a computer. Can I see? If it's not too much trouble."

"You like chess?"

"I like the knights. They jump."

Oleg stilled and swallowed. "They jump," he whispered. "I have tomorrow free. Would you like me to come and play a game with you?"

The next few minutes passed in the usual round of self-congratulatory platitudes that Miranda barely heard. Her eyes were on Oleg and the slight sheen in his eyes. Cerberus defended humanity against the large threats of slavers and Reapers, but perhaps they should make more room for these moments of small grace. Perhaps this was the key to avoiding future Teltins or Overlords: to force the staff to see not only humanity but individual humans. If by some chance, they managed to survive this war, it would be projects like this one humanity would need. Medical care and infrastructure, given to as many as they could. Political maneuvering would always be necessary, but it would be played out against the backdrop of a galaxy desperately trying to heal from the wounds of war.

Oleg exhaled once they were outside. "I wish there had been Cerberus thirty years ago."

"We're here now." _And we always will be._ "You know, I think I might actually have to steal a biomedical firm once this war is over. See if I can improve our trickle-down from the labs to the street."

"Fewer dead children," he said wistfully. "I'm sure the Illusive Man would approve. Saving lives is what Cerberus is for, after all." He put an arm around her. "It's Tuesday. Can I borrow your office so I won't freeze to death before my match?"

"Of course." She dropped a kiss on his ear. "But I can think of a few other ways to keep you warm."

* * *

Every screen in the base was tuned into the Cerberus broadcast. It was good propaganda, Nyreen had to admit. The humans on the station would be willing to overlook the new sanctions to help the noble saviors of one of their own. It was who - or what - had landed the child in the hospital in the first place that worried Nyreen.

"Do you think it's true?" Sidonis asked quietly. "Do you think Grizz had that kid shot?"

"I do." Petrovsky's words echoed in her head. Seven murders, now nearly eight. They had gotten access to the OSDs they were looking for in the raid. It would have been impossible to get them without the panic Grizz and his men created. They would be able to create viruses capable of infiltrating the Cerberus network. All it took was a few human lives. Just like keeping order for Aria had taken a few lives.

Sidonis shifted from foot to foot. He'd always been nervous ever since he had shown up at her door the day after she had started organizing the Talons. As if everywhere he spoke had the potential to cause disaster. "You have something you want to say?"

"I… I joined the Talons because I wanted to do some good. Make up for some big mistakes. Grizz is exactly the kind of guy I used to want to kill. It feels wrong to be working with someone like him." He cleared his throat. "The gang I was in before…we wanted to clean up the streets as much as we could. And we made a little money doing it. Before we knew it, we were fighting over credits and letting people get beaten so we could take the jobs with the biggest hauls. Our leader was so focused on taking down the gangs, that he didn't notice we were getting greedy. I don't want the Talons to lose their way like we did."

Two and two made four. "I won't end up like Archangel." She had almost lost herself to Aria, but Aria had been beautiful the way lightning was beautiful. Grizz was a petty thug. She was supposed to protect Omega's civilians—all of them. "Is it true that Archangel was lured into a trap? Something about a fake job?"

"Yes," Sidonis said in a small voice.

Wheels turned. Some would call what she was thinking dishonorable. Aria would call it stupid. But sometimes it mattered not that you won, but how. She would drive Cerberus from the station, but she would do it without aiding and abetting murder. "I want you to set up a meeting with Grizz while I test these viruses. We're going to get my captured men back."

"What are you going to do?"

"Repeat history." And finally wash her conscience clean. "And take Omega back—the right way."

* * *

The Illusive Man swirled his shot glass. "I understand you managed to save the victim of a turian reprisal. The son of one of your informants, I believe?"

"Yes sir. I believe it will improve popular opinion of us overall and deny the Talons potential recruits. Which lets us work in relative safety."

"Hmm. And does this increased security require sharing unauthorized technology."

Miranda stiffened and gripped her cane. "In this case? Yes. This security risks were minimal. It would be impossible for Dr. Abrams to replicate our work or to provide any evidence linking us to the stolen data."

He took a short puff on his cigarette. "You're interpretation of our security protocols is growing increasingly liberal. We can't afford any leaks, not with the Reapers so close. I worry about you, Miranda. Your view grows narrower with each passing day. I appreciate your long and storied service to this organization, but we can't afford to be sentimental. Your special requirements are a significant drain on our resources. If I don't see results soon, you'll have to see to them yourself." He pressed a button, and Miranda was alone.

Miranda shivered. His words might have seemed vague and noncommittal to an outsider but she knew what he meant. Control the adjutants or he would withdraw his protection of Oriana. Like everyone else, she was a cog in the machine, a means for the Illusive Man to further his plans for human dominance. Any affection—if there had ever been any affection—was secondary to the cause. And he was still the only one who could protect Oriana. Damn it!

"We got the bastard!" Matthews whooped as he rushed through the door. "We got the bastard who blew up the purification plant!"

Miranda's head snapped up. "What?"

"Anonymous tip. He was standing around in the street like an idiot when we caught him. Petrovsky couldn't believe it, kept ordering us to check around for booby traps." He forced himself into an approximation of sobriety. "I, er, at least people won't have to worry about a crazy blowing them up anymore."

"Not this particular crazy, anyway." The murderer had been captured. The nightmare was over. Oleg could plan his infrastructure projects without worries of terrorism. But other, darker thoughts, nibbled around the edges. This was her chance to test the control chip. In one move, she could visit justice on a mass murderer and restore the Illusive Man's faith in her. It was an elegant solution.

_Mind_ _control_, Morinth's voice whispered. _Isn't that how Henry Lawson made his money? Mind altering drugs and implants sold to the Alliance. And here you are doing him one better by taking my mind from me._

Miranda shook her head. Henry had only ever cared for amassing more wealth and glory. Service to humanity was just the prop he used to stroke his ego. She would get no glory from this, but humanity would get an army. And Oriana would be safe. "Tell the general I'll need double the security. We'll be creating fresh adjutants."

* * *

"Let me go, you Cerberus bitch!" Grizz struggled against the restraints tying him to the bed. "Or I'll rip your head open like you ripped mine." The leather bit into his flesh. Miranda frowned. He would injure himself soon if he didn't calm down, and no one knew how damage affected potential adjutants. Miranda wasn't one to take chances.

Matthews kept his gun carefully trained on Grizz's head. "I thought he was supposed to be all happy or something now?"

Miranda shook her head. "We don't have the capacity to perform significant personality overwrite. The best we can do is implant suggestions and issue commands. Like so." She turned to face Grizz. "Please, stop struggling."

Grizz stilled immediately. His eyes were wide sudden terror. "How did you do that?" The muscles in his arms tensed and convulsed, but he was powerless to move from his spot on the bed."

Miranda checked her omni-tool. The readings were within the specified range. The operation had been a complete success. "Radio the lab. We can begin the transformation process as soon as they're ready."

"What? Don't I get a last meal or something?"

"Did your victims get a last meal? Release the prisoner." The technicians did so. "Please stand up." Grizz rose from the bed with halting, jerky movements, as if he were a marionette being controlled by a particularly incompetent puppeteer. She inhaled sharply. This was what she almost did to John. She could have closed up his lungs and forced him to stay silent after Aratoht. She could have forced him to send someone else after the crew, or no one at all. She could have done anything she liked. She was the god of every muscle in Grizz's body. "Please, step forward. Please take—"

"Stop it, Cerberus! I can get there on my own, thanks. Unless you get off on ordering people around."

Miranda took a step back and nodded to Matthews to take over. No, she didn't enjoy this power. She refused to enjoy it. She would only command him enough to do what was necessary and no more. And she would prove Morinth wrong.

The execution chamber looked different from ground level. The pod towered over her like a giant coffin. This time she could see the slits that contained the needles that would inject Grizz with the virus. It was warmer than usual, but Miranda still shivered looking at it. _Remember Peter. Grizz deserves humanity. For Oriana._ "We're clear on this end."

"We're clear here as well." The filter stripped Oleg of any warmth or humanity his voice possessed. "I wish you would rejoin us, Operative Lawson."

"Thank you for your concern, General. One variable at a time." They had only ever tested the chip with an unfiltered voice. Even the mild distortion of an intercom could affect the whole experiment. Of course, it also placed her directly in the adjutant's path. She tried not to think about that.

"Very well." He sighed. "Does the prisoner have any last words?"

"Just this: fuck you. Someday there's going to be payback and all the fancy toys in the world aren't going to be able to save you."

The restraint team hustled him into the pod and locked the door. The machine started up, sending subtle vibrations through the floor that made Miranda's leg ache. The needles hit home, and Grizz opened his mouth in a silent scream. Here, the rumblings of the machine drove out any sound. The blue light started the center of his pupil and rippled outward until nothing turian remained. Tentacles spewed from his mouth. His bones lengthened and changed. One moment, the hands of a turian, now the claws of a predator. Light blue sacs burst from the back. But he didn't move as Morinth had. No convulsions, no banging his head against the glass. Just a long, terrible stillness as he transformed.

The glass slid away, but the adjutant didn't move. Miranda narrowed her eyes. Usually there was reflexive moment of some kind, despite the weakened state of a newly-transformed adjutant. Walker said that one had even come out attacking its captors. But this one just stood there. Its eyes never left her face.

Matthews cleared his throat. "I think it's waiting for you, ma'am. I think it wants you to give it an order."

Waiting for her? The adjutants were clever, but there was no indication they had the cognitive ability to distinguish her from Matthews or to expect anything. "Take a step forward."

Nothing happened.

Whispers danced at the edge of her mind. You know what you do, they said. And suddenly, she did. "Please, take a step forward."

The adjutant took a step forward.

A cheer went up the technicians. Miranda held up a hand. "Not yet. It could just be a coincidence. "Please, turn around." It turned around. "Please, walk to the other side of the room." It walked to the other side of the room.

She heard heavy footsteps behind her. Oleg's hand hovered over her shoulder. His expression wavered between excitement and apprehension. "Please, come to me."

The adjutant didn't move. "Maybe it only works for a few minutes."

"Please, come to me," Miranda repeated. The adjutant walked slowly and deliberately to her, stopping only when it was close enough for her to feel its hot, rancid breath on her face.

"Fascinating," Oleg whispered. "It responds to the sound of your voice. But why?"

"Because…because it works on the same principle as the chip itself. When I designed Nylantherop, I built it so that the subject would only respond to my voice and the codephrase. We can build devices coded to other voices, but it would take months." Months they didn't necessarily have. She was the only one who could control the adjutants. She turned on her comm. "Chambers, get me the Illusive Man. Project Zephyr has progress to report."

"He's calling you." She sobbed. "He says the Reapers are here."

* * *

The Reaper loomed over the waterfront of Vancouver. People ran screaming as a red laser spewed from its eye. The pavement broke into pieces. Buildings shattered like glass. Ground-to-space cannons fired direct hits at what should have been vital points. The Reaper didn't even move. Oleg shivered. He thought he had seen the worst aliens had to offer when the turians had set the skies of New Maccau ablaze. War was always Hell, but this was the depths of Cania where Satan himself was imprisoned.

"I regret to say that the losses have been very grave." For once, the Illusive Man neither drank nor smoked. The confidence that seemed to radiate from his very essence was veiled. " Twenty million casualties reported on Earth alone. The Alliance's Second and Fourth Fleets have been completely wiped out."

A thousand questions flitted across his mind. _Is Michael well? Do we still have control of Eden Prime?_ But he was a soldier and right now the only relevant question was, "What's our plan?"

"That is a more complicated question than it should be. The Reapers have always sought to divide and conquer, and the process has already begun. The Alliance has an understandable obsession with destroying the Reapers. I'm afraid we can't let them complete their plan."

"What?" Oleg asked. "Surely it would be better to work with the Alliance? Every ally is needed if we are to have any hope of defeating the Reapers."

"And we will take any allies who cared to flock to our banner. But Cerberus must remain the dominant partner in any alliance for the good of humanity. The Alliance insists on going its own way, and that way would be a disaster."

Miranda frowned. "And what way would that be? I can't say I have any objections to wanting to destroy the Reapers."

The Illusive Man smiled at her. "Always wanting to eliminate the threat. I admire your caution, but the Alliance is being dangerously reckless. They unearthed the plans to a Prothean device that they believe can defeat the Reapers. Our intelligence suggests they're pouring all their resources into constructing it despite the fact that they have incomplete data and, from all reports, no clear idea of what the device does. We're still analyzing data that we managed to recover, but all indication is that the device releases a massive amount of energy with no clear way of directing it. And what's more, it seems that the energy isn't meant to be directed."

"So the energy beam would hit us as well?" she asked. "Do we have any idea what it does?"

"As I said, we're still analyzing. But early reports suggests genetic rewrites on a massive scale. All organic life would be changed instantly, or so the Protheans believed. No word on what it does to the Reapers."

Oleg furrowed his brow. He had always prided himself on an interest in scientific matters, but this was making his head hurt. "Is that even physically possible?"

"Now you see why I say this can't be our way forward. Control of the Reapers is the only hope we have."

"I want to see this data," Miranda said. "The Alliance is hidebound and timid. It's not like them to throw resources at something like this."

"Of course. I'm confident you'll come to see what's necessary for humanity to survive." The star behind him darkened, throwing shadows on his face and making the lights of his eyes burn all the brighter. "And perhaps you'll both come to see the wisdom of using the implants. There are dark days coming. Military actions against those we would prefer to call friends. Sacrifices above and beyond what any of us should have to make. But make them we will."

The call ended and Oleg stumbled into the nearest chair. Miranda followed suit. She looked as pale and sick as he felt. His thoughts knocked into each other. The Reapers were here, and the Alliance had finally lost its mind. Cerberus would have to fight a war on two fronts. Michael, Rebekah, and Jake were somewhere out there and he had no way of knowing whether any of them were alive or dead. And he was on Omega fighting, not Reapers, but guerrillas.

"I'll need to inform the staff." There. That was something he could do.

They filed into Afterlife's upper room, their faces pale and drawn. North looked even more tired than usual, Walker had lost his arrogance, and even Patriarch seemed subdued. Every eye was on him. This was the greatest burden of command. He had to project calm and certainty even though his world was falling apart just like theirs was. "You have heard the rumors of an imminent Reaper invasion. I regret to inform you that those rumors are true. Sol has been lost. We have no information on the fate of individuals at this time."

There was a collective intake of breath. He briefly outlined what the Illusive Man had told him of the military situation and the Alliance's hope for the Prothean device. North buried his face in his hands. "There's no way we can win a conventional war."

"Fortunately, this isn't a conventional war. We've been studying Reaper technology for years. We'll use our enemies' own tactics against them." He nodded to Miranda. "Significant progress has been made in that area just today."

"Yes, wonderful progress," drawled Walker. "Any other time, I'd be jumping up and down. But the only person who can do anything with the adjutants is an invalid."

Miranda flinched as if she'd been slapped. "May I remind you that without my research, you and your harebrained schemes would still be getting my staff killed? Besides, we still have the capacity to stun all known husk types."

"Which the Illusive Man didn't even want. We can't send you into the field. The first time it gets cold, the adjutants would go dormant, if they didn't tear us to pieces."

"So all our fancy research is months away from being turned into soldiers, the Alliance is putting its faith in magic, and we're probably going to have to find them to keep them from blowing up the universe. Explain again how we aren't doomed?"

"Enough!" Patriarch rose from the table, looming over them. Oleg always knew the krogan was impressive, but he had thought he was impressive the way that Rome was impressive: his glory days were long gone but a discerning scholar might yet pluck some useful knowledge from his mind. But as he stood there with his red eyes blazing, Oleg understood he had miscalculated.

"You're bellyaching about what's going on halfway across the galaxy, but what are you going to do about the rock you're actually in charge of? I've been making war for a thousand years, and I can tell you that when you start neglecting the little details, everything goes to the Void."

"Indeed. We must always look for ways to defeat the enemy, but our first concern must be our original mission of securing Omega." He stroked his beard. Before his concerns had been rebels and possibly a vengeful Aria. But the station would make a fine prize for the Reapers to harvest, just as it had proved tempting for the original adjutants. "I'll move the defense canons to the top of the infrastructure list. And we'll need to shore up our supply lines. An army marches on its stomach, and Cerberus may not have full access to the relay system for much longer."

He pulled up a map of the Omega Nebula. "Bindur has a small mining facility. We may be able to reactivate it to provide needed platinum and palladium. I'll put word out in the safe districts. Surely some will want to do their patriotic duty."

Miranda stared at the map. "It would be awfully time intensive. It may just be cheaper to trade for raw materials and what we can't produce ourselves."

He shook his head. "We can't afford to lift the blockades on the relay. Aria might take the opportunity to slip through."

"Then what about travel that doesn't require a relay?" She pointed at the Fathar system. "Here. Lorek. They've been cut off from the Hegemony for months. Significant mineral and agricultural resources. They might be open to a trade agreement: our eezo and manufactured goods in exchange for their fresh food and minerals."

"They're batarians," North muttered. "They hate us on principle, and that assumes they won't want to filet us for locking down the relays in the first place."

"I was briefed on all potential threats when it became clear that this would have to be an occupying force. Governor Parass is a very practical man. Greedy, but practical. As long as we grease his palms and make it clear we can benefit him, then I'm confident we can broker a deal. Still…" Prejudice could be a thorny thing. So why not cut out the prejudice? "Parass respects strength. Patriarch, I'd like you to head up a diplomatic envoy. If you can find nonhumans you believe will look out for Cerberus, interests, so much the better."

Walker and North blanched. Even Miranda raised an eyebrow. But Patriarch only nodded. "Good. No humans on the team means you can't use your history as leverage. You're learning, Petrovsky."

"You and I will hash out acceptable concessions later. The rest of you: dismissed."

As always, Miranda was the last to leave. Oleg's muscles relaxed one by one as the mantle of quiet assurance he had donned for the meeting fell off. His hands shook. The Reapers were here, and all he could do was shore up their supplies. North was right as much as he hated to admit it: this was not a war they could win with brute force. The Zulus might have taken the British at Isandhlwana, but he couldn't count on the Reapers attacking in poor formation or a lucky solar eclipse.

She put her hand on his shoulder, and Oleg twisted to cover it with his own. "I won't lie to you, but you know we'll always do our best. I just wish I could do more."

"You're doing plenty. The adjutants are under our control."

She shook her head, and her smile was tinged with sadness. "No, they're under my control, and I'm useless as a field officer."

He opened his mouth to say something reassuring, but closed it again. She was right, damn it. Miranda was many things, but she would never be able to serve on the front lines. Anger washed over him. They had finally subverted Reaper troops for their own ends, but they were no closer to creating the shock troops that had been the original purpose of Project Zephyr. "We'll do something else with them. They're clever enough to pilot our most advanced ships. I think they can be useful without ever sending them to combat.

"But what you really need are troops."

"What I need are men. For every soldier we have on the front lines, there are two more in support roles. If the adjutants can take over those support roles, then I welcome them." _But yes, I need more troops._

She kissed him. "I'll get back to work. But, for now, I should make sure Oriana is all right. And, don't worry, I can mask the source. No one will know I'm calling from Omega."

"Someday you must tell me how you accomplish that particular bit of technical wizardry." He swallowed. "Can you find the Michael for me? I need to know that he and Jake are well."

She softened and kissed him again, more slowly this time. "Of course I can."

Half an hour later he was straightening his coat and trying not to throw up. Michael was ten years his junior, but he had always seemed older, a perpetually harried robin storing up worms for everyone but himself. His red hair was closely shaven, and there was more gray in his beard than Oleg could remember seeing. "Olezhka, are you okay? It was on the news that there was some kind of invasion on Earth. I can't get through."

"I'm fine. Are you, Rebekah, and Jake all right?"

"We're fine, unless you count Rebekah wanting to pull Jake out of daycare." He shifted awkwardly. "So are you still with that merc outfit? SolCorp or whatever it is?"

"Yes." Nausea clawed at the pit of his stomach. Could they never go five minutes without his brother bringing up that ridiculous cover story? "I'm out in the Terminus indefinitely. We're safe enough."

Michael's eyes were hard. "Don't you think it's time to give that up? The Alliance has recruiting lines going around the block. I'm sure they'd take you back. You wouldn't be a general like you were supposed to be, but I'm sure they can find something."

"My post is here. I will not abandon my contract."

"Taking credits from any crime lord who wants to pay? Real noble of you. Catherine would be ashamed."

Nausea turned to anger, and Oleg clenched and unclenched his fist. "Don't you dare bring her into this." He took a deep breath. Anger was a valuable resource, and Michael wasn't worth it. "I'll let you get back to Jake."

"Promise me that it will be worth it," he said to no one in particular.

"That Michael will learn to appreciate you? I can't promise that. Cerberus was always hated for his role in keeping souls in the underworld." Miranda gripped his shoulder with her free hand and turned him to face her. "But I know what kind of man you are."

He buried his face in her neck. "Why does it have to be this sacrifice? I don't mind the danger. I don't mind the secrecy. But I would like to have my family back."

She turned to press small, quick kisses on his exposed skin. He put his arms around her. Yes, he wanted a family. Other men had lost their wives and children in the First Contact War, but they had rebuilt. He had a double life and stolen moments with a woman duty could snatch away at any time. If Fate had been just a bit kinder… "I wish Henry had choked on an oyster."

She pulled back to look at him questioningly. "What?"

"Never mind. Did you get in touch with your contacts?"

"No, no one's answering. It's probably just congestion, but I worry."

"Worry is why any of us are still alive," he said with a lightness he didn't feel. "But I know what kind of woman you are, and I know how valuable you are to the Illusive Man. I'm sure Oriana is fine."

* * *

The Illusive Man found himself smoking more often these days. It kept the whispers at bay. The Reaper artifact that had struck him on Shanxi had given him knowledge, not merely of science and alien languages, but insights into the nature of the enemy he faced. Ever since that enemy had been revealed with the arrival of Sovereign, those insights had become distressingly audible. But he was not weak like Grayson.

"I'm sure we can come to an agreement, Henry. This is your chance to make your mark on the human race."

"I made my marks. You crippled one and stole the other. Besides, it's impolitic to be seen with Cerberus at the moment. Couldn't you be a little more subtle in your operations? I get half my interns from Grissom Academy."

He snuffed out the cigarette and rolled the nub between his fingers. "It was necessary. Cerberus requires the best and brightest. They wouldn't come to us, so we came to them. As for your daughters, Miranda was a valuable asset. Unfortunately, her injury and her scruples are making her somewhat less valuable."

"And so you came to me as your second choice. I'm flattered." He shook his head. "But Cerberus can't give me what I want. Miranda was my chance to create a dynasty. I'd be remembered as the progenitor of a new type of human. If I worked for you, anything I did, no matter how great, would have to be done in the shadows. No thank you."

The Illusive Man narrowed his eyes. When Oleg had pled Miranda's case after removing her from Omega, he had seriously considered whether the loss of Henry's resources could be worth even a skilled operative. But, whenever her failings, at least Miranda's concerns stretched farther than her own ego. A pity he had so far failed to convince her of the necessity of the implants. "Is fleecing refugees all that magnificent?"

Henry shrugged. "The trash of the galaxy wants a safe place to hide. A deal like any other. I'm a businessman. I'm willing to make a deal with Cerberus should the right incentive presents itself. Give me Oriana, and I'm sure we can come to the arrangement you spoke of."

"No. I still haven't given up on Miranda yet, and she requires a delicate touch. Removing Oriana would deprive us of precious leverage."

"Incoming call from Project Zephyr," said Jana over his earpiece.

Speak of the devil… "Excuse me, Henry. We'll speak again. Why don't you think about which side you want to be on when the war is over?"

Walker looked as if he had barely begun to shave, but he was brilliant and fearless in his desire to protect humanity. He was frowning now though, making him look a bit like an irritated basset hound puppy. "We've exhausted all of our current samples, sir. Project Zephyr can't continue without more adjutants."

"Omega has eight million residents. I'm sure you can find sufficient resources."

Walker didn't even blink. Fearless. "Lawson would never go for that. Neither would Petrovsky."

No, they wouldn't. Miranda had discovered her conscience at a damnably inconvenient time, and Oleg still clung to outmoded laws of war in a galaxy that had no use for them. "What about Major North? Do you think you would be amenable to assisting you in securing the station?"

"I believe so, particularly if you can get him implanted. He's wanted them for months, but Petrovsky won't let him."

"Consider it done. You will have to be discreet. I managed to disguise some aspects of our work on Avernus, and Oleg prefers to take a charitable interpretation of the facts, but it wouldn't be wise to do this too openly."

"And Miranda? She'll never stand for this."

"Leave Miranda to me." He hung up and smiled. The idea flashed across his mind like lightning. Openly betraying Miranda would be a disaster. But if he could arrange things properly, he might be able to gain the loyalty of both Lawsons. Or Miranda might kill her father, and the Illusive Man could swoop in and seize Henry's fortune for Cerberus. Or Miranda might be killed, and he would have a backer in Henry, eliminating the possibility of future betrayals from Miranda . Or they might kill each other. Either way, Project Zephyr would be able to continue unimpeded.

"Call Henry and tell him I'm willing to negotiate."


	10. Chapter 10

"With all due respect, ma'am," Patel said, "this creeps me out."

"Objection noted." Miranda returned her attention to the scene in front of her. One of the cars they used to pass the force field was elevated off the garage floor by a holojack. The adjutant lay on its back underneath. "Please, check the eezo converter."

The adjutant began unscrewing a knob and Miranda returned to her datapad. Oleg assured her that this was valuable work, but, after the novelty of commanding a Reaper creature had worn off, supervising the adjutants was bloody boring. The data the Illusive Man had procured from the Prothean archives was anything but boring. It proved that the Protheans were insane, but they were at least insane in an interesting way.

The Prothean device unleashed massive quantities of energy, but as the Illusive Man had said, it would not be confined to the Reapers. The genetic structure of all organic life would be rewritten in an instant to grant immunity to indoctrination. The scientists had seemed particularly interested in the ability to implant themselves with Reaper technology without fear of harm. They had spoken of creating a vast network of linked minds, a sort of mental extranet that would allow the Protheans to think as fast and well as a Reaper. To become them without losing their individuality or their physical forms. All the benefits and none of the downsides. What it did to the Reapers was as yet unknown.

"Making any progress?" Oleg peered over her shoulder. "I'll take over from here, Patel."

"Yes sir," Patel said with a salute and a sly smile.

"You don't think she knows, do you?" Oleg asked as he watched her go. "We've always behaved with perfect decorum in public."

Miranda chuckled. "These are the people who ran a betting pool regarding how long it would take John and me to go to bed together." She cringed. It had been a charming little romantic comedy for them: the attractive captain and executive officer who were perpetually at each other's throats. Of course they would fall in love. "Not anyone's finest hour."

"Especially his." His tone was light, but he stared at her with such intensity that Miranda shivered. She had thought at first that he would lose interest once his long-standing infatuation was satisfied. Or, more likely, that she would lose interest once her bruised ego recovered. She had preferred her lovers brash and take charge, not given to subtlety or romance. Oleg had authority, but it was of the quiet sort. He was a relic of a bygone age, like the leather-bound books and wooden chess pieces he loved so much.

She wasn't bored. Conversations could meander from the professional to the personal to the flirtations as easily as a river meandered through the woods. He would tease her about her ignorance of Caesar's _Commentarii de Bello Gallico_ while she asked him to explain the process that had created her and tickled him when he couldn't. She could speak of her desire to bring Lazarus to the world and the fire in his eyes would glow all the brighter either. And he would speak of his desire to teach the same world of Wellington and Monash and von Pannwitz, his voice low and caressing. She wasn't a collection of traits as she had been for her father, but he didn't insist that she was just like everyone else the way John had And, with him, she could finally speak of Peter and know she would receive understanding instead of condescension or pity. Maybe that was the trick: find someone who was broken the same way you were so that the pieces fit together.

She stared back. When they had first begun their affair, she told him that they would always be friends. But this quiet intimacy wasn't friendship. She didn't know what it was. But she liked it.

He looked around to make sure they were alone except for the adjutant before daring a quick kiss. "Have you managed to make sense of the Alliance's madness?" he asked when he pulled back.

"If you mean 'have I figured out what the Protheans thought the thing would do when they turned it on' then probably. But no sane modern engineer would put all his resources into this. It's a fairytale. Full integration with Reaper technology? A wonderful fairytale, but still a fairytale."

He stroked his beard, and his brow furrowed. "The Illusive Man thinks he can already integrate Reaper technology safely. Why would the Protheans need something of this scale and scope to do it?"

"Maybe he doesn't have the technology as well integrated as he thought," she muttered darkly. "Archer didn't have his technology integrated properly. I spent days cleaning up that mess."

"The Illusive Man never had the Overlord device implanted in most of his troops." His frown deepened. "Still, the rumored side effects do give one pause. But if we could have the physical benefits without indoctrination, it would be the greatest discovery for humanity since the relays." He looked at her brace. "I read what the implants did to Grayson's body while they were shredding his mind."

So had she. She had met him a few times after the Illusive Man had entrusted a child to his care. He had been an out-of-shape, sandblasted executive who she could have beaten with no weapons and one hand tied behind her back. The Reaper avatar had been a graceful engine of destruction who could bound across surfaces and take Leng to his limit in hand-to-hand.

She allowed herself to think of it. Six months ago, she had been pain free, free to do as she pleased without being beholden to malicious nerves and muscles that no longer obeyed her commands.

She could run down the streets once more. The adjutants could be used for something more than mechanics. She could make love without being swaddled in pillows, finally looking at Oleg as he thrust into her.

"It doesn't matter. What the Protheans wanted is biologically impossible."

"Yes, I suppose it is." He sighed. "May I walk you back to the lab once our strange friend finishes with the car? If this works out, I'll have them assisting with construction."

When they got back to the lab, Barrington was noticeably on edge. "Call from Cerberus Command for you, ma'am " She swallowed. "It's Kai Leng."

Miranda swore under her breath. There were days she almost believed in God—a God who ordered the universe to cause her as much misery and annoyance as possible. She gave Oleg an apologetic smile. "Excuse me for a moment."

Kai Leng stood glaring at her as she entered the comm room. At least she assumed he was glaring. The eyepiece he wore made it damnably hard to read his expression. When she and Wilson had created the Lazarus implants, they had taken a great deal of care to make them unobtrusive so that John would outwardly appear to be still completely organic. The creators of the Phantom implants had taken no such care. His legs were completely metal, and wires twisted across his arms like vines. But the sneer… the sneer she remembered.

"I hear you finally got the adjutants working. Good job. What are you going to do? Have them push you around in your wheelchair?" Miranda counted to ten in her head, but her anger must have shown on her face because Leng added, "Have I touched a nerve, Lawson? You could have had all this, but you're just a miserable, cowardly cripple. Turn the temperature down, and you're useless."

_I am not useless._ "Our supply of entangled particles is limited, and I refuse to waste them being insulted by you. What do you want?"

"Since you can't make any use of your adjutants, we'd like to. We've managed to create new control implants keyed to my voice, and I've got big plans for them. I need five hundred adjutants two weeks from now."

"Five hundred?" Miranda's mouth hung open, and she couldn't speak for several seconds. Leng was petty and cruel, but he wasn't stupid. "We've only had six adjutant executions since I've been here. Omega's violent, but we've managed to cut the murder rate in half. There aren't that many people who warrant being turned into an adjutant."

"Then I suggest you loosen your standards." He laughed, and the sound made Miranda's hair stand on end. "It's just Omega. No innocents here, just the filth of the galaxy. Pick five hundred. No one will miss them."

"They are under my protection. And if decency doesn't make you come to your senses, maybe common sense will. Randomly turning people into adjutants would undermine everything we're trying to do on Omega. The population wouldn't trust us, and the Talons would be running roughshod in no time."

"I don't really care about Petrovsky's plan to turn Omega into Wonderland. And frankly, you shouldn't either. You've got bigger problems" His lips pulled back into a smile. "Have you heard from Oriana lately?"

No. No. Cold washed over her, and dull knives scraped at her legs. "What do you know?"

"Calm down. She's fine. For now. But I got a look at the security arrangements. Nice apartment the family has on Terra Nova. I could make one phone call to Henry Lawson and let him know all about it."

Miranda bit her lip. You wouldn't do that, she wanted to say. But the unfortunate truth was that she no longer knew what Leng was capable of. He had always been the Illusive Man's attack dog, fully controllable only by him. And he might be the type to exult in her fall from grace by destroying what she loved simply because he could.

But five hundred people so he could do who knew what with them? She killed, but never wantonly. She closed her eyes. It was easy to imagine what would happen next. Kandros would rally the entire station to her cause. They would target the new infrastructure first for its symbolic value. The fighting would be long and bloody. Thousands, perhaps tens or even hundreds of thousands, would die. Perhaps even Matt and Peter. And Cerberus would lose. "Go to hell."

"I'll tell Henry to tell Oriana that you said that." He vanished.

Pain shot through Miranda's leg as she stumbled outside. What had she just done? She had spent years meticulously planning for Oriana's safety. She had risked her life for it—made Oleg risk his life for it—and she had thrown it away in an instant. Her heart thundered in her chest. She had to get in touch with her contacts now, make sure Oriana was all right. Maybe she could talk to the Illusive Man or someone who could do something. Liara still owed her a favor…

She nearly crashed into an anxious-looking Oleg. One arm whipped out to steady her. Miranda let herself be enveloped by a warm wall of Cerberus uniform. She trusted her weight to him as she shivered. He was not her lover, just something solid she knew she could lean against that would never go away.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly.

She told him.

His eyes narrowed. "Leng is a fool. Someone should have reined him in years ago. The Illusive Man knows what kind of man Henry is. He would never surrender your sister to him."

"He threatened it once," Miranda said quietly. "He said he would withdraw his protection if I didn't produce usable adjutants. He'll keep Oriana away from Father just as long as I'm useful."

"Listen to yourself. As long as you're useful. Well, you are. None of my staff has been killed by experiments gone awry since Rolston. We have working adjutants. You've been instrumental in developing the policies that have made Omega as safe and prosperous as it is. 'The true interest of an absolute monarch generally coincides with that of his people. Were he totally devoid of virtue, prudence might supply its place, and would dictate the same rule of conduct.'" Oleg squeezed her shoulders." The Illusive Man is one of the most prudent men I've ever known."

Miranda nodded as her mind reasserted itself. Oleg was right. If the Illusive Man had wanted to sell her out to her father, he would have done it before she had a half-dozen adjutants under her command.

"Don't worry, my dear. We'll get this sorted out."

"I'm afraid Henry Lawson does have your sister," the Illusive Man said. His voice was soft, but anger flowed just beneath the surface like ice water. "Leng acted without my knowledge or authorization, but by the time I discovered what he'd done, Lawson's men had already seized her."

He continued speaking, but Miranda didn't hear him. She felt as if she were twenty years younger watching her father's men shooting up the streets of Omega and destroying the fragile life she had built. The floor shifted and moved under her as blood rushed through her ears. Father had Oriana. Father had Oriana. The Reapers had arrived weeks ago, but only now was the world ending.

"Fortunately, we've managed to track her to Horizon. Lawson runs the Sanctuary refugee camp where he's currently making another fortune by promising a safe haven from the war. He and Oriana are there." His lips thinned. "Unfortunately, if the rest of our military division is stretched too thin for us to mount a rescue."

"Then let me do it myself." It didn't matter if she had to crawl to Horizon, Father wasn't going to ruin Oriana's life the way he had ruined hers.

"Hmm. You're doing very valuable work for me on Omega. It would be an unfortunate time to lose your services. But I believe I could arrange for a leave of absence if…"

"If what?"

"Once you secure your sister, there's another assignment I'll need you for. We can discuss the details once you've dealt with your personal crisis."

"You want me to leave Omega?"

"Really, Miranda, I thought you'd be pleased. I assigned you to Project Zephyr so you would have a chance to recover from your injuries. Well, you've recovered marvelously. It's time to place you somewhere more central to the war effort."

"I… I understand, sir. It's just what I was doing such good here."

"And now you have a chance to do even more good. I know that you're fond of General Petrovsky and your former crew, but we all must make some sacrifices."

Miranda walked to Oleg's office in a daze. The Green Zone outside Afterlife was more cluttered than it had been when she arrived. Construction vehicles choked the street, ready to be sent out on their assignments. Trusted locals bustled to and fro from the customs warehouse where the first goods from Lorek were stored. Oleg had been right and she had been wrong. The station wasn't doomed to be a pisshole. They could create the Camelot he wanted so badly. If only she had more time.

She found Oleg at his desk, hunched over a datapad. "My dear, did you speak to—" He paled when he saw her face. "What's wrong?"

"He has Oriana. The Illusive Man has found her, but I'm going to have to handle the extraction myself." She swallowed, and every syllable tasted like ashes in her mouth. "And after, I'm being reassigned."

"Reassigned?" he mouthed. "When?"

"Immediately after I get Oriana off Horizon."

"I see." His shoulders drooped, and he drew into himself. He stood and walked around the desk to her, but his movements had none of their usual fluidity. He was no longer the Terror of New Macau or the genius who had routed Aria T'Loak. He was simply an old man.

He took her hands in his. She noticed with a little shock that he was trembling. "It will be very dangerous for you, my dear." She opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head. "No, I know you can take care of yourself, but a good commander always makes sure he has sufficient resources to carry out his task. The Illusive Man may not have the men to spare, but I do. Take Matthews and Hadley with you."

"You're certain?"

"If I can't spare two men, this occupation is in graver trouble than I ever dreamed." He forced a smile, but looked as if the slightest touch would shatter it. "Alas, my assistance is also not free. I'd like one last chess game for old time's sake."

Miranda pressed her lips to his hand and wished she could weep.

* * *

Every graduate of the Macapa Space Academy received a class ring. With the rise of the Alliance, the academy had faded into obscurity, but Oleg still wore his ring with pride. The heavy onyx stone swallowed up the dim light in his room. Many of his classmates had given their rings to girls they hoped to marry, but Catherine's family had insisted on a proper engagement ring. Most of those classmates were on their third or fourth marriage while he sat here hoping for…what, exactly?

He took the ring out of the box and placed it on the dresser. It was better to enjoy those pleasures Fortune did permit him to enjoy than to waste away like Narcissus in front of his own reflection. He picked up the chess board and went to Miranda's room for the last time.

He knocked, but there was no answer. Again. Still nothing. Trepidation crept along his skin. Miranda always answered, and tonight of all nights she would be prompt. Unless she wasn't well. The crawling sensation intensified as he opened the door.

He found her curled up on her side in the bed, supported by pillows. Her skin had gone paler in her eyes were slightly glazed. Her breathing was labored but even, and the muscles in her back were rigid. "Oleg," she murmured. "I'm afraid I'll have to forfeit that chess game."

"What happened?"

"Stress, nerves, too much caffeine." She winced. "I've taken some Andrex, but it hasn't really kicked in yet."

"I'll leave you alone," he said as he struggled to hide his disappointment. His eyes flickered heavenward. Was one last night really so much to ask?

"No!" She inhaled sharply. "Stay with me. Give me something else to think about besides pain. And it's not as if either of us were planning on sleeping."

He kicked off his boots and slid into bed beside her. He curled as tightly to her as he dared. She looked small, weak, and not at all beautiful. Just as Nikolai had in the hospital bed. Except Miranda would live for a century or more if she survived this war. There would be good days like the night they had first made love, and there would be days like this one. And all his tactical genius was helpless to affect which was which. Was this how Odysseus felt? The cleverest of the Greeks, able to bring down a city when an army couldn't, but still at the mercy of a vengeful god determined to keep him from all he cared for? He needed to find better gods.

"Talk to me," she commanded. "How's the reconstruction of the purifier plant coming?"

"Excellently." He kept his voice low and soothing. What he said wasn't as important as how he said it. "Kandros is keeping her Talons away, and Grizz's death seems to have broken the spirit of his organization. Barring any unforeseen mishaps, it should be ready for operation next quarter."

"Good, good." Her laugh came out as more of a cough. "I'm sorry I won't be there to see it. Damn you for making me care about this godforsaken rock. It's funny, when I came here as a teenager, Omega was the place I was supposed to finally be free. Instead, I ended up a thief. We come here to secure one relay and we actually make it decent for some people."

"We'll make it decent for more yet. Human and alien. Someday I'll be able to power down those blasted force fields, and your woodcarver friend will make a fortune overcharging tourists." He settled back on the bed. It could have turned out the other way easily. He might have been swayed by North and Walker to confine his harshness to the alien population. After the bombing, he would have given up the attempt to improve Omegans' lives in favor of doing only what was necessary for the adjutant team to continue their work. And he certainly never would have sought out Patriarch on his own. Any small mistake would have sent him sliding into moral disaster, and perhaps tactical disaster as well. "I'll miss you, my dear."

He stroked her cheek, and she relaxed a little. "I'll…miss you too." Another laugh, more bitter. "This wasn't how you wanted to spend your last night, was it?"

"No," he admitted.

"It's not bloody fair." Her words were edged with a slight slur. The Andrex was beginning to take effect. "I bring back the dead, but I can't use any of the technology for myself because we lost the damn backups when we had to blow up the station. The magic device is looking pretty good right now."

He thought. It was a foolish thought, but one that had been gnawing at the edge of his brain ever since she had told him what the Prothean device did. "Perhaps after the war, we'll be able to turn magic into science. Let's suppose we manage to drive the Reapers back. Better still, assume they're destroyed entirely. The technology will still be here. Including the Grayson implants. We'd be able to study them in a far safer environment than currently. It would revolutionize the field of prosthetics and assistive technology."

She rolled over to look him in the eye. Her eyes were slightly out of focus, but her jaw was set. "If Henry is stupid enough to have Oriana with him, I might have to engage in some of the company-stealing I mentioned."

He didn't respond to that. They both knew that the only way Henry would hand over control of either Lawson Biomedical or the Artemis Group was at the point of a gun, and the thought of the man terrified and bleeding on some remote world didn't distress him. "And I'm sure the Illusive Man would be interested once defeating the Reapers no longer preoccupies him. And if it doesn't, well, I may not be as mercenary as Michael believes me to be, but I know what targets to hit to acquire money quickly."

"Rob from the rich to give to the scientific? Robin Hood would be thrilled." Her voice grew smaller. "You would do that?"

A knife twisted in his chest. _Oh, my dear. Must you be suspicious every time someone offers you a kindness? "_I would. For you and for everyone else that this war has maimed." He smiled at her. "Would you prefer I slay a dragon? I admit it's a much grander gesture, but it seems dreadfully impractical."

She laughed, and for the first time that night, it seemed genuine. "Why not? All you'd have to do is start lecturing about the French mistakes at Agincourt, and the thing would fly away."

"Are you saying I'm boring?"

"Merely that it would be forced to acknowledge your superior intellect and surrender."

They lapsed into silence. He wished it was as simple as slaying a dragon. Stories made war glorious. A single great battle in which the forces of good triumphed decisively. No one ever mentioned the monster eating processed food or the sheer boredom of sieges. You fought and survived as best you could month in and month out against poor bastards who were not so different from you. And there were no dragons either. The stories had been full of those too: conveniently placed monsters the hero slew to prove his devotion to his lady. There were only men like Henry Lawson who had placed themselves beyond the reach of any army. Sacrifice was more wearying and less romantic. You were nice to the brother-in-law you despised because your wife liked him. You stayed up all night when the baby had colic. And you watched helplessly as your lover battled her own nervous system. You pushed away every instinct that told you to quit the field and find something more comfortable to watch. Because she wanted you there. And you did it day after day, knowing you were fighting a stalemate.

She fell asleep sometime around midnight, and Oleg crept from her room. The streets of the Green Zone were deserted. He had always loved this time of night. Sneaking Catherine home after they had stayed out far too late. Executing a surprise attack that had turned a battle into a route. But tonight there was only hollow silence.

A gold glint caught his eye as he returned to his quarters. The ring. He picked it up. Glory followed those who wore this ring, it was said. They would do their nations and humanity great service as they explored and defended the new frontier. They would marry and have children and they would be strong enough to avoid having it snatched away. They wouldn't always win, but they would always know the best tactics to use for every enemy. Long would be the battle, but they would return to those they fought for as heroes.

He scowled. Glory? Power? He was powerless to prevent what he loved from slipping away. Catherine and Nikolai murdered. Now Miranda gone as well, taking from him by war as surely as his family had been. He threw the ring against the wall. It bounced and clattered to the floor. He glared at it. That would never be his life again, and he had been a fool for dreaming otherwise. Cerberus was the only family he would ever have.

He said down at his desk and began to write. He couldn't keep Miranda, but he could keep her safe.

There was a knock on the door the next morning an hour before breakfast. Oleg tossed his clothes on, muttering and cursing. If he couldn't have Miranda, he thought the least he could ask for was sleep.

But it was Miranda herself that stood in the doorway. She was still pale, and didn't look as if she had slept all that much better that he had, but she was standing on her own power with a death grip on her cane. "I wanted to say goodbye in private. You've been better to me than I deserve."

"Miranda…"

"Please, let me finish," she said, and the slight pleading note in her voice was enough to silence him. "If it wasn't for you then I would be stewing in my own self-pity. John treated me like tissue paper and then the Collectors base. Even the Illusive Man shunted me off to the side. But you? You wanted me at your side and—" She cracked a smile—"other places."

"Of course I want you." _And I always will._

"Anyway, I just wanted to say thank you. For everything." She took a step toward, and it was as if a switch had been flipped inside him. He seized her face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers. Her free hand tangled in his hair as she kissed him back. Her tongue was warm and insistent as she explored the contours of his mouth. As if she wanted to commit them to memory. Warm moisture fell on his face. Tears, though whose they were was impossible to say. His hands moved downward, ghosting over the sweep of her neck and the curve of her shoulder.

She pulled away. Her eyes were large and shining. "Goodbye." She looked as if she would say more, but then she gave him a last smile and was gone.

* * *

North found Miranda gaping as the adjutant pod was loaded into the Gallant's cargo bay. "What's going on?"

Good. He wasn't the only one shocked by Petrovsky's little stunt. "General's orders. Since you're the only one who can control the thing, he doesn't see much point in keeping it here, and he thinks the thing will be useful in your current operation." As if the whole station didn't know that she had him by the balls. North wished Petrovsky had stuck to candy and jewelry like a sensible man.

The icy mask she always wore shattered. "Oh, Oleg. Tell him I'll make good use of it and have it back in good condition."

North shrugged. "I'm not going to tell him anyway. One of our fighter bases is under attack, and I've been dispatched to head the relief effort."

Her eyes narrowed, but if she had any doubts about his story, she didn't show them. Why should she? Her ex-boyfriend's excursion on Noveria had been all any of the enlisted men could talk about the last day. Of all the Cerberus projects to go off without a hitch, it had to be the one to create a super soldier who would be more than happy to slaughter them all once the Alliance got their hooks back into him.

He took a deep breath. The integration procedures were paying off handsomely, and he would soon be joining the ranks of the elite. Then he would finally be able to take the fight to the Talons and stop his men from dying. He merely had to be patient for a little longer.

Miranda stood on the ramp and took a last, long look around the station. She had been seduced by Petrovsky's dream as surely as he'd been seduced by her body. North was more practical. All the good Petrovsky was trying to do on Omega would be washed away, just like all the good Archangel did had been washed away. The best they could do was do their experiments and control access to the Omega-4 Relay and to hell with the criminals and riffraff living on this station.

Miranda went inside, and North turned and walked away. It was time for his own new life to begin.

Three days later, he stood looking in a mirror. His brown eyes had turned bright blue, though the technicians assured him that would fade with time. Silver strands worked their way up skin. He held up a hand and concentrated. Energy shot from his palm, leaving a pleasantly large hole in the ceiling. And best of all, he understood. Cerberus was humanity. Only it could stop the coming darkness. And to do that, sacrifices would have to be made. Petrovsky had wanted to limit his experiments to those he considered deserving, but for Cerberus to succeed, the entire station would have to be harvested. And if Petrovsky couldn't understand that, he would have to be part of the sacrifice. He turned on his comm.

"Walker? It's me. Integration was everything you said it would be. Get the holding areas ready. It's time we put this station to use."


	11. Chapter 11

She had almost forgotten how sunlight felt. It was summer here, and the sun beat down on her. Sanctuary itself loomed in the distance, but for now she was out here with the rest of the mass of people looking for safety from the war. Hundreds of people from every race stood in the courtyard. Most of them wore clothing as shabbily made as the disguises she had procured. A turian woman bounced a toddler on her knee while a sick-looking asari wrapped herself in tattered blankets.

A woman in the blue and white Sanctuary uniform worked her way through the crowd. "Unauthorized supplies are not permitted within Sanctuary. For your own safety, please use only our blankets, tents, and other devices."

"How much for blankets?"

"Five credits for a blanket. Two hundred for a tent."

It was Matthews' turned to look sick. "These people already have next to nothing, and now he's leaving them dry? What kind of sicko is your father?"

Miranda jabbed him in the ribs. "Quiet!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the Sanctuary rep told her. "I'm afraid you can't use that cane in here, though you're welcome to purchase one of ours."

_Oh, you are a bastard, aren't you, Father?_ "It's specifically tailored to accommodate my disability." She flashed a credit chit. "How much to make an exception in my case? And perhaps to queue-jump? My brother and I have come such a long way."

The rep's gaze darted around. "Priority passes are one thousand credits each. That just gets you into the facility. It doesn't cover maintenance fees or any necessities."

Miranda paid the money with a smile.

The other refugees glared at her as she hobbled inside. Sanctuary was all white and blue on the inside, with native flora everywhere in the lobby. She submitted to the scans without protest. As if she was fool enough to carry a weapon on her person. Her omni-tool was a cheap civilian model without the ability to so much as tap into the comm buoys, little more than a walkie-talkie.

Another rep handed her a piece of paper. "Fee schedule."

Matthews scanned the paper. "Five hundred credits a night for a bed? Fifty for meals?" He paled. "What happens when people run out of money?"

The rep shrugged. "They go back out there. Eventually, they're evicted. We have to keep this facility running somehow."

A vein popped out in Matthews' cheek, and Miranda laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Easy, brother. We did worse to make our fortune." She smiled sweetly at the rep. "We want the best quarters you can muster."

The best quarters they could muster turned out to be two single beds and a toilet in a dormitory with paint chipping off the walls. Miranda sat on the edge of the bed. Slow, deep breaths. She couldn't afford to let her emotions get away with her now. Oleg wasn't here to save Oriana if things got troublesome. She would find her little sister and get out of here.

"This monster is bleeding people dry." Matthews paced the length of the room. "Are we going to let him get away with it?"

Miranda opened her mouth to tell him that they had come here to extract Oriana, but Oleg's voice echoed in her head. _It is the duty of a Cerberus officer to help as many humans as he can in whatever circumstance he finds them. _"We'll do what we can. If he's fool enough to be here, then I plan on making him pay for everything he's done. If Oriana is alone, then we'll see what we can do about forcing a few credit transfers back to the refugees."

She flicked on the omni-tool. "Patel, do you read me?"

"Loud and clear. I've got your guns, amp, and omni-tool waiting. Our friends are, er, relaxing in their stasis pod as we speak."

"Good. Wait for my signal. We move at nightfall."

Nightfall came. "Wake them up." Miranda took a deep breath. This was either going to go off without a hitch or it was going to be a bloodbath. She spoke slowly and carefully. "Please attack the people with guns and blue-and-white uniforms. Please do not hurt the people who don't have guns. Please protect them. Please help us clear a path."

The sound of gunfire and screams followed three minutes later. The front door of the facility buckled. There was a groan of metal as one of the adjutants punched a hole in the gate. Miranda dashed into the foyer as quickly as she was able. Battle raged around her. An adjutant seized a guard by the scruff of the neck and threw him against the wall. The guard crumpled like paper as his bones crunched against steel. Refugees ran screaming in all directions. The adjutants ignored them. Well, at least that was one thing going right.

She found herself standing next to Patel. "I think this is the first time we caused a Reaper attack. Where are we going anyway?"

Miranda shrugged as she took the Paladin and amp. "Where else do you keep your most valuable possessions? The highest room in the tallest tower."

A new voice cut in over the loudspeakers. "Lock down the facility. The Reapers are attacking. All available units to Tower One."

Miranda stiffened. So Father was here after all. It didn't matter. She wasn't a little girl anymore. But as the adjutants chewed their way through his forces, memories came flooding back.

_Father glared down at her. Miranda looked at the chess board. She had learned the hard way that it was better not to look at him when he was like this. "Are you a fool, Miranda? I counted at least seven elementary mistakes. You will practice until you get it right."_

She used her biotics to create a barrier. _"I don't care what you think. If a species of brutes like the krogan can create their own biotics, then so can we. This is what Miranda's healing factor is for. Prepare for surgery in a month's time. I'll oversee it myself."_

She hacked the tower elevator. _The screen flickered in the darkness. Eve. Alexandra. Mary. None of them were over two years old. Her father always told her she was an only child, but now she understood. She wasn't the first he made, just the first he kept._

At last she stood outside the penthouse door. The carpet was stained with red and black blood. Bodies were strewn on the floor. Miranda took a deep breath and motioned for Matthews and Patel to follow her. Onward to the mouth of hell. Beyond the door, there was a muffled scream. Miranda's blood pounded in her ears. Oriana. She opened the door.

Henry had changed since she saw him last. His hair was grey not black, and wrinkles crossed his smooth skin. The eyes were the same blue as hers, but they lacked the piercing intensity she remembered. He trained a Paladin on her head, but his hand shook as he did. But it was his human shield that transfixed Miranda.

It was as if her teenaged self had been brought forward in time. Oh, the hair was a little shorter. But everything else? Her front teeth were slightly oversized. The lines of her jaw were strong. Eyebrows curved in a graceful arc. Her baby sister stared back at her at last.

"Who are you?" Oriana's voice quavered.

"Stay back, Miranda," Henry said quietly. "You wouldn't want your sister hurt."

"My sister?" Oriana frowned. "I've seen you before, that day in Nos Astra."

"Yes, a charming little family reunion. But Miranda is nothing but poison, Ori. She stole you away from me when you are just a baby. I would have made you worthy of your bloodline. She stuck you with a pair of commoners and didn't even let you grow up among your own kind." He returned his attention to Miranda. "Leave before I have to do something I regret. I can make her great, just like I made you great."

"Great? Just like you ruined my life, you mean?" Her mind whirred. It was a standard hostage situation. Normal rules of engagement dictated neutralizing the hostage as quickly as possible. Bu there was more than one way to neutralize. Mordin had taught her that much. She put her free hand behind her back and removed a small vial from her belt.

"Ungrateful child. Do you think for one moment that you would have been able to raise the dead or do what you did with the adjutants if it wasn't for the gifts I gave you?" He sneered. "Yes, I know what those monstrosities running amok in the hall are. Leng contracted me to make more implants. Part of the deal for getting my daughter back. I gave you my intellect, but as usual, you failed to use it to its fullest potential."

"Fleecing refugees and stealing my designs?" Her voice was ice. "Yes, you gave me my gifts. You even gave me your mind. But I chose how to use them." For the first time, she didn't choke on the words when she said them. "And I'm going to use them to stop you."

She stepped back and threw the vial at him. Henry dropped the gun and fell to his knees. Matthews rushed forward to catch Oriana as she fell and carried her to the couch. Miranda gestured at Henry with her gun. "Make sure he doesn't go anywhere."

She hobbled to the couch. Oriana moaned, but her color was good. "I have a headache."

"Trace amounts of nerve toxin. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you." Her hands hovered over Oriana's face. The urge to hug her was overpowering. But she wasn't sure she had the right. They were related by blood, and Miranda had watched her grow up, but it had always been from a distance. Even now, she was a stranger to Oriana.

"I'll be fine, I think." Oriana's eyes widened, as she hauled herself into a sitting position. "Do you know what happened to my parents? I was on my way home from work when these men came up behind me and forced me into a car. They said they would kill my Mum and Dad if I didn't cooperate."

"The people you call your parents are fine, child. You cooperated. I'm not a monster."

Miranda turned back to her father. Patel had dragged him to the nearest chair. "You have a strange definition of monsters."

"Says the—I suppose it wouldn't be wise to complete that sentence under the circumstances. What happens now?"

"Now? Now I make sure you can never hurt anyone again."

Panic flashed across his face. "Is that really necessary? I'm sure we can come to an understanding. Everyone has a price, Miranda. Name yours."

Miranda put her finger on the trigger. It would be so easy to blow his head off. Safer, too. As long as he lived, he was a threat to Oriana.

"Don't!" Oriana said. "I mean, he is still our father isn't he?"

Oleg's voice rang in her ears again. You must only ever kill out of necessity, in self-defense or to complete an objective. Show no mercy and no one will show mercy to you. Damn him. Damn both of them. "Yeah, he is."

She walked forward until she was looming over her father. He looked small and weak. Just another old man after all. One who had squandered his fortune almost from the day he built it. "I want Lawson Biomedical. And Blackstone."

"You want a lot."

"I could always leave you with the adjutants."

"Touché. You know how to draw up the paperwork." He nodded at her cane. "Even with that, you still managed to beat me. Perhaps you aren't quite as much of a disappointment as I believed."

Miranda glared at him. Once she would have been hungry for even that much acknowledgment, but now she just felt tired. "Get him out of here. And scrounge up some of those fee schedules. I'm sure Westerlund News would be very interested in the price gouging going on here."

Father's eyes popped. "Are you trying to make me a pauper? I gave you the company!"

Miranda laughed. "I promised to let you go, and I will. I didn't promise there would be no consequences. Goodbye, Father. I don't think we'll be meeting again."

Patel and Matthews hustled him out the door, and she was alone with Oriana. She had tried not to fantasize about this moment. It was never good to fantasize about things you couldn't have. But the dreams had slipped in anyway. They would hug and laugh and babble as if they had never been apart. There had never been this awkward silence that stretched on moment after moment.

"So, we're sisters," Oriana said at last. "You look like me."

"We're twins. Genetically. How we were born, well, it's a bit complicated." _Wonderful opening line. You've known each other for two minutes, and you're already babbling about your bloody genes._

Oriana frowned. "Henry ranted about it. I don't really understand it all, but we've got some kind of special engineering that makes us smarter and stronger than other people. Have I got that right?" Miranda nodded, and Oriana managed a small smile. "Well, that explains a lot."

"What?"

"I skipped three grades. I got a perfect score on my college entrance exam. Nobody's ever done that. I had to do it twice before the board was convinced I wasn't cheating. It really freaked my parents out. What else can I do?"

Miranda startled. Oriana sounded so…impressed with the whole business. "It doesn't bother you at all?"

Oriana shrugged. "It's not like I could go down to the gene store and pick it out for myself anyway."

Miranda laughed, loud, long, hysterical laughter. Was it really that simple? Just treat it as if you were created normally and move on with your life? "I wish I'd been raised like you."

"I guess Henry wasn't exactly Father of the Year, huh?" She put a hand on Miranda's shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Miranda relaxed into it, but Oriana still kept her hand there. "So, tell me about yourself."

"Me? I'm afraid I'm really rather boring." _The parts I can tell you anyway._

She punched Miranda on the arm. "You sneak in here with a squad of commandos, start a riot, and hit me with a nerve toxin, and I'm supposed to believe you're boring?"

"Fine. What would you like to know?"

Oriana thought. "How did you get me from Henry to my parents? They always told me that I was adopted, but it doesn't sound like he just gave me up."

"He didn't. I had to break into his mansion and spirit you away."

"Alone?"

"No. I had help from a mercenary captain named Oleg Petrovsky. He helped me get away from Father's men once." She closed her eyes at the memory. "And he nearly died helping me get you out."

"Died? You must have paid him a lot."

"No, we were friends by then. We still are. The oldest friend I have, as a matter of fact." _Or maybe we're more than friends. Damn the Illusive Man and his reassignments._

"Tell me about him."

Miranda smiled. "Well he can be very pompous when it suits him, but he's one the best officers I've ever known. I remember one time…"

* * *

They had set up shop in one of the disused mining tunnels out of necessity. The ground was caked with eezo residue. North adjusted his helmet's breathing filter. Damn Petrovsky's antiquated sense of honor. He was performing these experiments for Omega. He ought to be able to do them openly where he could breathe clean air. The sacrifices he made for humanity.

He walked the length of the holding area. His men had made a fine catch in the Kima District: a dozen or so turians of various ages. All were poor, even by Omega's standards, with families that were either unable or unwilling to search for them. He pointed to two. "Perform primary transformation on the man. Hold the woman in reserve for secondary transformation."

The force field dropped and his men waded into the mass of flesh to drag the two turians, both wearing the same blue markings, into the lab proper. The lights were dimmer, but it was set up largely as Lawson had done. Three of his men pulled the male into the transformation chamber. The subject screamed curses at them, but the soldiers were armed and he wasn't. North watched as they locked him in the execution chamber. _Be grateful, turian. You'll do more for humanity like this than you ever have in your miserable life_.

The creature that emerged from the chamber was beautiful in its way. The power that had killed so many of his men was now his to command. "Adjutant, step forward." The adjutant stepped forward, and North smiled. Lawson wasn't the only one who could command them now. "Mk II implants working as desired."

"Excellent," said Walker from somewhere above him. "We're ready to test secondary transformation on your order."

"Adjutant, follow me." He led the new weapon into the adjacent room, which had once been a closet to store mining tools. The female turian had been stripped naked, and was bound at the wrists and ankles. She looked up at him with terrified eyes. "What did you do to Terius. Where is my husband?"

"Husband?" He rounded and glared at the camera tracking his every move. "Why didn't you tell me they were married? This could affect the subject's docility."

"Relax, North. If Lawson could make Grizz work on our cars, you shouldn't have any problems. There's nothing left of the original host."

"It's your head if you're wrong." He stepped aside. "Adjutant, transform her."

As Walker had promised, there was no hesitation. She screamed of course and called Terius' name, but the adjutant simply picked her up and sank its claws into her spine. Her eyes began to glow with the same blue light as she sank to the floor. Excellent. The new adjutant scrambled to its feet and gave him a confused look. "Adjutant, leave the room."

The creature that had been Terius dutifully left, but the new adjutant simply stared at him. Maybe it was confused. He repeated the order, but it still stayed where it was. "I thought you said the control ability would transfer?"

"I said it probably would. This is the bleeding edge of neurology."

"Well, figure something out. If the adjutants don't become loyal when transformed by others, we're stuck using the chamber indefinitely. I don't—"

One of the soldiers ran in. "Spy drone spotted at the perimeter, sir. Probably Talon."

Kandros, shit. The woman was determined to destroy everything he did. And they didn't have the manpower to withstand an assault. They would have to move. Kandros would come down on them with all the fury of Hell when she realized her precious civilians were being used as test subjects. "Pack—"

_No, wait. It's better if you don't leave._ The voice whispered inside his head. This was the most wonderful, most terrible part of integration. His mind worked faster, and sometimes it was as if knowledge not his own had been placed into his head. He looked at the Cerberus emblem on his gauntlet. If Kandros saw what they were doing, she would blame Cerberus as a whole. Her fury would be vented at every soldier on this station. Petrovsky would have no choice but to push back.

And maybe North would finally be able to convince him to do what it took to end this war.

* * *

_I, Henry Lawson, being of sound mind, hereby deed my shares of Lawson Biomedical and the Artemis Group to my daughter Miranda to dispose of as she pleases…_

Miranda read the datapad. The bastard had actually kept his word. Lawson Biomedical and Blackstone were hers to do with as she pleased. She could finally start researching how to re-create Lazarus. And she could send Oleg the men he needed so desperately. Omega would finally have its police force. She would help his dream succeed, even if she wouldn't be there to see it.

"The board is going to go ballistic when they hear about this," said the woman at her side. She remembered Miriam Cartwright as if she were a figment from a dream: scuttling around Henry like a wisp of smoke, making sure no one asked too many questions about what the CEO was doing in his off hours.

"That's your job, isn't it? Making sure they don't go ballistic? We'll need to nominate a new CEO. Find me some idiot with no mind of his own. Father certainly had enough following him around."

Cartwright didn't even raise an eyebrow. "Yes ma'am."

Miranda settled in her chair. The Sanctuary penthouse was a mess. Henry had always been meticulous about record-keeping, but this was ridiculous. He had records of every toothbrush the refugees had purchased. She had attempted to make good on her promise to Matthews, refunding what money she could, but it was slow work. And there were other things to worry about.

Oriana was surrounded by datapads. They might have been genetic twins, but there was a carelessness in Oriana's movements that Miranda had never possessed. Even now, Miranda had to resist the urge to tell her to sit up straight. "So, what do you actually do for a living? I'm guessing this is your first time as a bigshot executive type."

"You could say that. I've worn many hats. At the moment, I do genetic research for a small company out in the Terminus. Genocorp."

Oriana raised an eyebrow, and Miranda forgot to breathe. Her posture was so different, but then there were moments like this one where she saw her younger self so clearly that it was like stepping back in time. A her that was unaccustomed secrets, that saw no reason why family shouldn't share everything. "Right. A genetic researcher with the skills of a commando."

"Like I said, many hats." She touched Oriana's arm. "I'm sorry. That must sound silly to you. I tell you more if I could but it's complicated."

"Complicated?" Recognition dawned in her eyes. "I get it. You're some kind of secret agent aren't you? Going on undercover missions, doing secret research, that kind of thing?"

Miranda froze. What did she say to the almost-truth? If it was anyone else, she would have given them an icy stare and told them they were delusional. Oriana was different. She had told herself for twenty years that Oriana would despise her if she ever knew what she was. But this sunny, open girl seemed to like her against all odds, wanted them to be sisters. She closed her eyes and thought of Oleg and Michael. Anything to avoid that utter contempt.

Oriana broke into a crooked grin. "I'm right, aren't I? You scrunch up your nose just like I do when I'm trying to hide something."

_I scrunch up my nose?_ "If you want to call me a secret agent, that's as good as anything."

"So, do you like to fight crime or something? Maybe land on uncharted worlds to destroy Cerberus bases?"

"Cerberus?" Miranda said, fighting to keep her voice even. It was bound to come up sooner or later. News had filtered through the comm buoys: Cerberus had seized Grissom Academy and subverted Councilor Udina in an attempted coup of the Citadel. No doubt the Illusive Man would have numerous justifications for why that was necessary to the war effort, but Miranda wasn't sure she wanted to hear them.

"Yeah. I figure someone has to. I mean the Reapers are scary as hell, but you can't exactly infiltrate them. Cerberus is still evil, but more… personal, I guess you'd say. I can't wrap my head around giant metal ships that want to wipe out all life in the galaxy. I get kidnapping kids or trying to take over the Citadel." Her brows knitted together. "But I guess that makes it worse. They're traitors to humanity. We should all be working together, and here they are trying to kill the people saving our lives. You seem like the type that would want to stop them."

"Oh, Oriana." She had tried to tell the Illusive Man the same. Someday they would have to stop fighting each other and come together. Maybe the Alliance would stop believing in magic or maybe the magic would prove to be real after all. She rubbed her leg.

Oriana blushed. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I guess you don't do much breaking into Cerberus bases. Does it hurt, if you don't mind me asking?"

Anything to avoid talking about Cerberus. "When I'm tired or stressed or cold."

"Is there anything they can do?"

"Nothing feasible," Miranda said, thinking of the Crucible.

She saw the wheels turning in Oriana's head. "Then we…we should do something. I mean, you own a biomedical company. Isn't that what it's for?"

"It's to help other people, maybe even mass produce prototypes I discovered." Her selfish concerns—the scars, the crippled leg—could wait until the war was over.

Oriana rose, walked to the window, and threw open the curtains. "Tell me what you see."

Miranda hobbled forward. The chaotic mass teeming outside Sanctuary looked different from here. They were a great swirl of color, like the crowd for a rock concert or a papal audience. It was impossible to tell the humans from the asari or the salarians from the turians. "I see a lot of desperate people. And I still don't know how we're going to house them all."

Oriana rolled her eyes. She swiped a button on the window sill. The glass shifted and changed. Now she saw a few dozen people standing together liked packed sardines. They were thin, dirty, and miserable looking. One was missing a hand. A few had their heads heavily bandaged. And one, a blonde human female who couldn't be much older than Oriana, leaned heavily on her cane. It was a cheap metal thing, the sort of thing government insurance might have purchased after a particularly pernicious round of budget cuts. Or what Henry would have stocked to sell to these desperate souls.

"They call it the Soldier's Corner," Oriana said softly. "Mercs injured in the line of duty. The companies won't pay for healthcare, so a lot of them end up here. Help them, help yourself."

Miranda's gaze was fixed on the female soldier. Her trousers were too bulky to tell if she was wearing a brace, but the way she leaned heavily on her cane was all-too-familiar. Funny. She had gotten used to thinking of her injury as something that singled her out, a permanent sign of what she'd done it the Collector Base. But here was someone suffering the same injury. And thousands or millions more like her. All no less deserving of her scientific genius than Peter had been. "Henry mentioned doing work for someone called Leng. I bet that means that there's a lab around here somewhere."

There was. It was a beautiful thing. Spotless chrome, clean and orderly. Technicians bustled from place to place. She scanned the equipment. Here was the incubator she had used when cloning organs for Lazarus. There was the DNA sequencer Binary Helix wouldn't officially reveal for another three months. And there… there was the device she had used to clone blood for Peter. A physician's dream. And here there would be no need to hide her work or worry about the Alliance destroying it. The dream she had described to Oleg was at last within her grasp.

Oleg. Moisture pricked her eyes. She had her sister. She was at last free of Henry's machinations. The power to help humanity as never before stood within her grasp. He would have been so proud of her. But he was on Omega, fighting Talons and preparing for the day Aria would come to reclaim what she saw as hers. It wasn't fair. He should be at her side, celebrating. They should be preparing for lovemaking right now. They should…

But when had her life ever been about should? She touched her comm. "Cartwright, I want three Blackstone companies deployed to Omega. I've negotiated a private security contract to handle customs and patrol and policing for minor offenses. I'll handle transport and fee negotiation."

"Yes ma'am. Cerberus always did pay well."

"You know about Cerberus?"

"I know everything, ma'am. And there's an incoming call for you. Encryption 792-4. I believe you know that is."

She did. It was inevitable that the Illusive Man would want to check on her progress. His image was blurred around the edges, but his smile was unmistakable. "I understand congratulations are in order."

Miranda shifted uncomfortably. Once, she would have taken his tone for an almost fatherly pride, but now it seemed too ingratiating to be entirely sincere. If he was pleased Henry had been dealt with, it was because it had removed all possible distractions from her being a diligent Cerberus officer. "Oriana is safe, yes."

He rolled his cigarette between his fingers. "Yes, and Henry's disgraced. He won't be trouble for you or us any longer. More importantly, you have significant control over his resources. That presents us—humanity—with a huge opportunity. Some of the finest laboratories and manufacturing facilities in the galaxy."

"Yes, I have ideas on that score myself." He listened with interest for the first time in months as she described her plans for cloning blood and possibly restoring the limbs of those injured in this war. "My next assignment permitting, of course."

"As a matter of fact, your next assignment will permit. Because this is your next assignment. I had hoped you would manage to dethrone Henry, and I see I was right. Our reputation is tainted right now because of some of the unfortunate actions we've been forced to take."

"Like attacking Grissom?"

"Like attacking Grissom," he repeated. "Some of the students came to believe that the Alliance wasn't doing all it could against the Reapers, and were unable to leave the station due to the sensitive nature of the devices they were prototyping. We sent in an extraction team, but they encountered more resistance than expected and had to call for backup."

She wondered how much of that story was true.

"But that's neither here nor there. We need a public face. You could pass on some of our biomedical advances to the wider galaxy. Siphon off a percentage of the funds you receive to us. You'd be doing a great service for humanity, and it's not as if you need the funds. In fact, there's one particular discovery that might be of interest to you."

He stood, and the lights of his eyes seemed to grow a little brighter. Every muscle in his body tensed as power—subtler than Oleg's but still power—swirled around him. "We captured a Shadow Broker operative. Among his belongings was an OSD containing schematics from the Lazarus Project, specifically the processes used to repair Commander Shepard's skeleton and nervous system. I believe we can develop non-Reaper-based implants to restore your mobility."

Miranda's knees buckled, and not from pain. Oriana had spoken of developing something for her, but a prototype developed from scratch was years away even without the stresses of the war. Having the Lazarus data shortened the time to mere months. She saw John in her mind's eye. Not her ill-advised lover, but Commander Shepard who vaulted over walls, dashed across the battlefield, and drove out of enemy fire with an easy grace. She had done more than restore him to stock; she had made him better. And now that grace could be hers.

"Thank you, sir," she managed.

"Don't thank me just yet. I do require some form of repayment. As I said, we need a public face. Due to the efforts of Commander Shepard and the Alliance, public opinion has turned against us. As marvelous as the implants are, we do still require outside contacts. You've just become one of the most powerful women in the galaxy. Every door will be opened to you. We'd like you to recruit for us."

"You want me to mingle?" Hang around with wealthy and powerful fools who were no match for Oleg or even Jacob. But for the chance to walk again… "Do you have anyone in mind?"

* * *

The drydock was a ruin of twisted metal, and the _Moscow_ didn't look much better. He had thought he had seen the destructive limits of the resistance after Grizz had been apprehended. This time there had been no casualties, but the impact on military readiness was far greater. One of Cerberus' precious cruisers simply gone. The drydock out of commission for months, if the Illusive Man would even deign to give them the resources to repair it.

"Security footage caught a couple of aliens in Talon uniforms breaking in around midnight," Hadley said. "Looks like a quick job."

Kandros. Of course. No one else would have dared to hit such a prominent military target away from the civilian areas. And it was the fourth such attack in as many days. Checkpoints and supply depots had been seized or simply destroyed. Casualties had been minimal, but the loss in supplies and ability to effectively control the districts had been devastating.

"Send a message to Cerberus Command that we're unable to perform repairs and this time. Offer double rations to anyone who enlists. We need more guards on our other installations. Some who will actually stay awake," he muttered darkly.

"What we need is to put the fear of God into the Talons." North had returned from Noveria ten days earlier with dozens of small scars crisscrossing his face and hands courtesy of the Alliance and it had put him in an even more sour mood than usual. "We know that their strongholds are in turian controlled areas. I say we give everyone in the district a choice: deportation or work in the mines, supervised and housed by us in temporary shelters."

"That's monstrous!" Hadley said.

North shrugged. "It worked for Pakistan."

Hadley looked at him blankly, and Oleg came to his subordinate's rescue. "In the early twenty-first century, the village of Spinkai was suspected of harboring Taliban militants. The Pakistani army captured the village after days of heavy fighting and found bombs, suicide jackets, and schools for would-be bombers. In response, the army destroyed the village bazaar, shops, and even the hospital. The villagers were forbidden from returning to their homes. It was a gross violation of the human rights law in force at the time. And it would be an even more severe violation of the laws of war now."

"But the Taliban lost their base for good. Besides, it wasn't like you weren't prepared to do even worse to the station once upon a time." North's lips pulled back into a smile. "You were ready to demolish the station level by level if Aria didn't give up."

"Yes, I did." The decision had weighed on him. It had not been exactly in accordance with the laws of war, but Aria had forced his hand. And she had backed down in the end, thank God. But now? He was the governor of this station, however much some quarters resented his authority. He was responsible for their welfare. "I will only authorize the minimum necessary to put down these new incursions."

"Seems to me that you're doing a lot less that the minimum. Maybe if you weren't so busy moping because your girlfriend left, you'd be able to see that."

Oleg rounded on him. "I am in command here, and you will show me the respect that I'm due. If you have any suggestions for a graduated response, I'm willing to listen. But until then, get a cleanup team in here."

North gave him a stiff, barely correct salute and left. Hadley remained behind. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Ah, the herald of every drubbing ever given by a junior officer to his superior. "Permission granted."

"We're losing, sir. Maybe we should get the implants like the Illusive Man wanted. I mean, Operative Lawson stuffed God-knows-what into Shepard and he came out a superhero. None of us were supposed to make it back, but we all did because of him. If we had a few thousand people who were just as strong and skilled as he was, I bet we could turn the whole war around like that." He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

Oleg stared at him. North had agitated for implants, but the former Lazarus Cell members had always struck him as just as cautious as their former leader. "You would be willing to risk that, Hadley?"

"I risk death every day, sir." He shifted uncomfortably. "I already lost my brother to the Collectors. Only family I have left is his husband, and last I heard he was doing some cargo retrofits for the Alliance. I'd risk a lot to make sure he got out alive. To do the impossible like Shepard did. A lot of the others feel the same way. "

_Like I would do for Michael and Jake_. Was that the true blessing and curse of Cerberus? To sacrifice so that those you loved would live instead of die? And now their sacrifices were counting for precious little. Another few weeks of Talon reprisals, and North's draconian measures would look reasonable. The civilians would incur a horrible cost—unless Cerberus bore the cost in their place.

He sighed. "Permission granted. Any other man who wishes to can do likewise. Make sure they know that there will be no discrimination in promotions, compensation, or work duty. This is a strictly volunteer procedure."

And may God have mercy on them all.


	12. Chapter 12

"Eleven, black."

Miranda groaned. Her sixth straight loss of the night. If she were going to be stuck here socializing, at the very least, she should be winning. Maybe she had had it right as a teenager: she should only play games she could rig in her favor.

She downed a glass of lemonade. The fundraiser had attracted the surviving cream of galactic society. She recognized most of them, either as associates of her father or from her work with Cerberus. They clinked their glasses and discussed this one's new star-yacht or that one's new spouse. Occasionally, they even remembered to mention the refugees. To think that this would have been her life if she had managed to survive her father: flittering from society party to society party, a glittering ornament on display for the paparazzi, supposed to care more for whatever vintage was being served than for whatever good their wealth was supposed to be doing.

"Hey, I remember you!" The voice was slurred with alcohol, but the vacuous tone would drive Miranda crazy even if the speaker were sober. "Minerva, right? What happened to your face?"

The muscles in Miranda's shoulders seized. She remembered Aish Ashland as an infant who had visited Henry along with her grandfather. The girl had been much more charming when she cried constantly. At least then there had been some hope that she would grow out of it.

"I know a really good plastic surgeon who could fix you right up." Ashland's voice dropped to a confidential whisper. "He did both of my noses."

"I'll take that under advisement."

"You've got to do more than that. Rumor is that you came here alone. The whole point of something like this is to show off your arm candy and your new jewelry." Something like sympathy crept into her face. "Or are you nursing a broken heart? After I caught Jenellen using my stash, I couldn't go anywhere for like, a week."

"And if I were nursing a broken heart, I would certainly tell a complete stranger about it."

The sarcasm flew over Ashland's head and landed somewhere near the chandelier. "Right! That's what the paparazzi is, after all. Well, my grandfather's waving me over. I hope he's not too mad that I put down some money on that one varren." And with that, Miranda was mercifully left alone.

_Nursing a broken heart._ The very idea was ridiculous. She had always known her affair with Oleg must come to an end. In this line of work, you took your pleasures where you could for as long as you could and didn't grieve when circumstances forced you and your lover to part. That the lover was her oldest friend and former mentor should make no difference. If they survived this war by some miracle, then she would see him again. He probably would have found some other lover and the nights they had shared together would be nothing but a happy memory when she saw him next, and…

She put three chips down on the double zero. Damn it. She missed Oleg. He would have found this whole evening as absurd as she did. He would have quietly laughed at Ashland and gently teased Miranda about playing a game with as high a house edge as roulette. They would have lost a few thousand credits, laughed about it, and simply watched the rest of the world. He would wear a tuxedo, not his dress uniform, and she would drink in the sight of him with abandon. He would dominate these shallow and vapid people the way he dominated the battlefield. And when the night was over, they would sneak back to her apartment for a proper dinner and lovemaking. Damn Cerberus.

"Miranda? What are you doing here?"

Oh no. It couldn't be. An eagle would be more at home at the bottom of the ocean then John would be at a black-tie party. But it was him. A small, dispassionate part of her was forced to concede that he cleaned up well enough. His eyes were the same clear blue she remembered. He was lean and muscular beneath his tuxedo. Half the women and a few of the men were staring at him and the woman in a blue dress that he had allowed on his arm. And Miranda felt… nothing. Not desire, not jealousy, not even regret, just emptiness.

"John. I bought a ticket. The same as you, I expect. Though my job requires me to submit myself to these functions. I'm curious what your excuse is."

"None of your business," said the woman beside him. "You're probably still with—you know what, I'm not even going to bother."

"Ash…" He put his chips down on number seven, and stared skeptically at Miranda's. "Double zero? You always were an optimist."

"And you always did love a cliché." The wheel came up seven, black. Miranda sighed. "Maybe I should go for the clichés once in a while. While I still have some of my bankroll left."

John stared at her, studying. The familiar pity clouded his eyes as he looked her up and down. "Your leg- is that from the Collector base? Miranda, I had no idea… I should have visited you in the med bay."

Miranda stared at him. There was a time she would have begged for such an apology, anything to prove that she was more than a bit of disposable tissue paper to the man she had given two years of her life and her heart. But there was only grim satisfaction. John's guilt and pity mattered no more than Henry's approval. "It might've been bad for your image," she said coolly.

"Like being with Cerberus is so great?"

"Ash, I don't really think this is a conversation we should be having right now. In public. While we're supposed to be doing you-know-what." He stiffened almost imperceptibly. "Excuse me."

"You just got a call on your comm, didn't you?" He opened his mouth to deny it, but Miranda smiled. "You looked just like that whenever Kasumi wanted something at the Hock party. Just try not to shoot up the place until after I leave this time. I never got the blood stains out of that dress." And perhaps it was better to get out while the getting was good. She motioned to the croupier to cash out her chips.

"Are we just going to let her walk away? She could still be with Cerberus?"

"If you bothered to watch the news, you would know that I have much better things to do with my time than Cerberus. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

A flicker of movement caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. Miranda turned. A few feet away stood a dark-skinned woman in a teal dress. Miranda narrowed her eyes. Well, it seemed to be quite the day for running into familiar people. Hope Lilium had been one of the more competent intelligence analysts she had worked with in Cerberus, if a touch on the xenophobic side. She had disappeared a few weeks after the Illusive Man had begun rolling out the implants. And now she and John were at the same party. Interesting.

John followed her gaze. "Dammit, Brooks. What have you gotten yourself into now? If she cut herself and got high on the medi-gel again…"

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "Brooks? Is that what she's calling herself these days?" She inclined her head toward Williams. "If you want to find a Cerberus officer, look no further."

John and Williams looked at Lilium and back each other, and burst out laughing. "The woman so out of it that she named her tracking program after her damned cat is a Cerberus officer? Next, you'll be telling me that there's a clone of me running around."

"Considering the number of tries we had to go through to get your heart and lungs right, it wouldn't surprise me." She shook her head in irritation. "Nevermind. This 'Brooks' of yours was a Cerberus officer who prepared the dossiers for the mission through the relay. Drove her crazy when the Illusive Man asked for information on Mordin and Thane."

"But she nearly passed out he was she got shot. I had to drag her here. And did I mention that her tracking program is named after her cat?"

"It's called having a false identity." She sighed. "Allow me to demonstrate." She closed her eyes and willed tears to spring up. Her voice was raw, with the broad accent of the colonies. "What am I to do? My husband was killed in the battle for Mindoir, but the Alliance is refusing to pay benefits. And with the baby on the way…"

"Okay, we get it," Williams said. "But we're supposed to believe the 'ex-Cerberus' agent about another ex-Cerberus agent?"

"I believe her. Miranda's many things, including obnox—I mean, _refreshingly_ blunt. And her eyes aren't glowing. That's enough to ask our new friends some questions, don't you think?"

He took Miranda's free hand and led her over to where Lilium was attempting to blend into the crowd. Lilium turned when she saw them. "Commander, have you—" Her eyes widened as she saw Miranda. _Check._

"Got a few problems…" John sucked in a breath, relishing the sheer theatricality of the moment. "Hope."

Lilium broke into a run. Miranda resisted rolling her eyes. Why did they always run? She extended a hand and allowed biotic power to flow through her. Someone, maybe Ashland, screamed. Lilium froze, trapped by the stasis field. Williams marched up to her and put her hands on her shoulders. "Don't even think about moving."

A guard approached. "What's the meaning of this? Amps are supposed to be left at the door. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

John turned on his omni-tool. "Spectre authorization. She's with me." He approached Lilium as the guard blubbered his apologies. "Like my partner said, I'd suggest you not even think about moving."

Lilium fell to the floor as Miranda released her biotic field. She'd done her good deed for the millennium. Now it was time to beat a hasty retreat. She didn't know what Lilium was doing here, but it was never wise to stay around a former associate any longer than was necessary. She didn't think Lilium could peg her as an active operative, but it was better to take no chances.

Lilium rose to her feet and glared at Miranda. "Did Mr. Illusive send you? Last I heard, you were too crippled to be sent on assassination missions, but I suppose anything's possible."

_Christ._ She hadn't been lucky at the roulette table. Why should she be lucky at anything else? And, thanks to the cane, she wasn't in a position to run anywhere. "I'm not with Cerberus anymore. I acquired Lawson Biomedical and the Sanctuary refugee camp from my father and have been busy herding that particular band of cats for weeks."

"That's funny. I might be on the run from Cerberus, but I still have a few hooks in the organization. From my understanding, your last assignment was on Omega alongside General Petrovsky." Her teeth glistened like polished knives as she smiled. "Though from what I understand, you spent more time under him than beside him."

John put a hand on her shoulder. To an outsider, it would have looked friendly, even affectionate, but Miranda felt the warning strength in his squeeze. _Don't run or I will come after you._ "I think the two of us need to have a long talk somewhere private."

Miranda nodded. This was a temporary setback, not worth making a fool of herself like Lilium had. The Alliance couldn't prove her current association with Cerberus, nor did they have hard evidence of anything she had done previously. She was the woman who had stopped a terrorist attack on the Citadel, who had brought Commander Shepard back to life. Her very isolation on Omega would be her salvation.

John and Williams marched them to the car. Miranda kept one eye on Lilium as she kept her hands resolutely behind her back. "Far be it from me to tell you how to do your job, John, but you might want to do something to neutralize the subdermal omni-tool she has installed."

John swore and pressed a button on his own omni-tool. Lilium smiled again. "Well, you're a lot saner than the usual batch Cerberus has looking for me. Usually, the indoctrination turns them into gibbering idiots by now."

"Indoctrinated?" Miranda swallowed. She had known that the implants were risky, but a part of her wanted to believe that the Illusive Man wasn't stupid enough to be playing right into the hands of Reapers. "Of course I'm not indoctrinated. I'm not even with Cerberus anymore."

"Of course you'd say that you weren't indoctrinated! I bet you—"

John glared at Ash as he brought the skycar to Tiberius Towers. "Easy, LT. I believe her," he said just a little too quickly. "I'll take charge of Miranda. You take Brooks to C-Sec and see if you can get some answers from her."

It was Williams' turned to glare. "Aye, aye." She took a step toward Miranda. "If you even think about hurting the commander, the keepers will still be finding pieces of you in the protein vats when this war is over. Got me?"

"Perfectly."

She and John were alone in the elevator. Miranda leaned against the wall. John couldn't keep his gaze from her leg or her scars. Did he feel sorry for her, blame himself for her injury? Pity was a noxious thing, but it was a tool that she could use here. "Are you in much pain?" he asked quietly.

"Today was a good day until your friend started accusing me of being a Cerberus agent."

"And she wasn't wrong, was she?" John smiled the same triumphant smile that he had when he had not only activated the geth but managed to turn it into an ally. "Don't look so shocked. You flinched a little when she mentioned Petrovsky and again when she mentioned indoctrination. I did pick up a few things about reading people from being around you. I'm betting that the intel about you being on Omega is true, and that makes you my favorite person in the world. Assuming you aren't indoctrinated."

"Which you have no way to prove. I guess you're just going to take my word on that."

His smile grew bigger. "That's where you're wrong. Cerberus aren't the only ones who play around with mad science. Let's just say we have a task force that involves fooling around with a lot of Reaper technology. We had to develop reliable tests for indoctrination. And fortunately, Gly-er, the Shadow Broker's info drone has a copy of protocol."

The elevator stopped. Miranda did her best not to stare as he led her into an apartment that rivaled Henry's penthouse in Sydney for luxury. The couches were made of the same leather she had used in the XO quarters and a grand piano dominated the living room. John led her to a game room/library and pulled a chair up next to the card table. "It's very simple Lawson. I'm going to ask Glyph to run some tests on you. If you pass, then I'm hoping you'll help me out. If not…" He lifted up the flap of his coat, revealing a Paladin.

"And what makes you think I'll help you of all people?"

"Because if you were the type of person to hold a grudge against her ex-boyfriend, Jacob would have been pushed out the airlock a long time ago. And, if Brooks' intel is accurate, then you and I might want the same thing. Which I will tell you all about as soon as you pass my little test. Glyph, get in here."

She spent the next few minutes suffering the drone asking her questions in its annoying monotone and allowing it to measure her heart and breathing rates. "I can confirm with 98.72% accuracy that Ms. Lawson is not suffering from the effects of indoctrination, nor do I detect the presence of the usual Cerberus implants."

Miranda raised an eyebrow at John. _Told you._

He sighed in the visible relief, as if it actually mattered to him that she wasn't indoctrinated. "Good. Stick around for a minute. I'm going to need you." He turned to Miranda. "Is it true that you were working on Omega with Oleg Petrovsky?"

Miranda didn't answer.

John groaned. "Off the record. No statement you make can be used in a court of law. Cross my heart and hope to die, et cetera. Did you work with Petrovsky?"

Oh, fine. If he was determined to believe her a Cerberus officer, she doubted her continued denials would do anything to disabuse him of that notion. And he didn't seem interested in arresting her. Curious. "Yes."

"And the part about sleeping with him?"

"None of your damn business."

"Touched a nerve, did I?" He fingered one of the cards. "Aria T'Loak wants my help retaking Omega. She's quite convinced Petrovsky is a merciless bastard. I believe she's planning on killing him. She's amassed quite an impressive fleet to do just that."

Miranda froze. An invasion had always been a possibility, albeit a more distant one compared to the daily threat of the Talons. She could see it in her mind's eye. Aria would crash the vanguard of her forces into the station. Most wouldn't survive, but they would be able to disrupt the shielding long enough to land a small force. That small force would be able to take out the defense cannons if they were quick and skilled enough. Which John was. They would find a capable if reluctant ally in Kandros. The outcome of the final battle was… uncertain, even with all of Oleg's tactical skill. Aria would show no mercy. His would be a slow, torturous death. The Pirate Queen couldn't afford to be seen as weak. No. No. She wouldn't let that happen.

"I don't want him to die either. You see, Liara still has a few agents on Omega, and one was able to pass on a few logs from a Dr. Walker. Glyph, play back record 79 – 40R."

_"We've exhausted all of our current samples, sir. Project Zephyr can't continue without more adjutants."_

The Illusive Man's voice. _"Omega has eight million residents. I'm sure you can find sufficient resources."_

_"Lawson would never go for that. Neither would Petrovsky."_

_"What about Major North? Do you think you would be amenable to assisting you in securing the station?"_

_"I believe so, particularly if you can get him implanted. He's wanted them for months, but Petrovsky won't let him."_

_"Consider it done. You will have to be discreet. I managed to disguise some aspects of our work on Avernus, and Oleg prefers to take a charitable interpretation of the facts, but it wouldn't be wise to do this too openly."_

_"And Miranda? She'll never stand for this."_

_"Leave Miranda to me."_

Miranda felt as if the floor had opened up from under her. Eight million people, fodder for the adjutant experiments. The Illusive Man would never… She shook her head. Of course he would. A few million lives was nothing compared to the trillions of lives in the galaxy. Walker was more than capable of it. North had always been eager for implants. It was all so terribly, disgustingly plausible. And she had helped these madmen. She should have shot Walker, not allowed him to take her place. It would be all too easy to make a few extra thousand people disappear. It was Omega. People disappeared every day. "What do you want from me?"

"Petrovsky's actions on New Macau are part of the modern military history course at Arcturus. I looked up to him when I was a cadet. If I could get him fighting on our side, it could turn the tide on a few fronts. And if I could marry his tactical genius to the resources of Lawson Biomedical and the technical know-how of the woman who brought me back from the dead, well that would be worth a lot more than the fleet Aria offered me."

"You want me to defect? And convince Oleg to defect alongside me?" She laughed. "Go from working for a madman someone who believes in magic?"

"Believes in magic?"

"That bloody Crucible of yours. Change all life in the galaxy on a genetic level. Make us all immune to indoctrination. It makes controlling the Reapers look like a brilliant plan in comparison."

For as long as she had known him, John had never been completely still. He was always drumming his fingers or tapping his foot. He was still now. "You know what the Crucible does?"

"And you don't?" Recognition dawned. "Don't tell me that the Alliance has been building the Crucible without knowing what it does?"

"Er…" He schooled his features into a semblance of professionalism. "Did the Illusive Man give you data from Mars to figure that out? The Alliance would be very, very interested in that data. I was going to use my Spectre authority to give the two of you amnesty before Aria swept in. But if you give me a copy of that data, well, I can delay that invasion to give you and Petrovsky time to do what you need to. Aria won't move without me anyway, and I can make the logistics of her invasion very awkward. "

He leaned forward to look her in the eye. "And, if you bring Petrovsky back to me, I'm willing to sweeten the pot." He fished an OSD out of his pocket. "On this disc is a program that I can release into the Alliance intranet. Everything the Alliance has on you Petrovsky, and the rest of Lazarus Cell, all those inconclusive investigations, gone. In fact, I can rewrite the records to say that you've been a deep cover operative gathering information on Cerberus for years. You could go back to being CEO of Lawson Biomedical without ever having to worry about a repeat of tonight. Stop sleeping with a gun under your pillow."

_Stop sleeping with a gun under your pillow._ She and Oriana could be secure in the life they had, and Oleg could have the life he always wanted. All she had to do was believe the man who had abandoned her at his convenience, believe that that recording wasn't just another fake and that John would do what he said he would. But if it weren't a fake, if Walker really was planning to process an entire station, then Oleg was in very serious danger. He would never stand for it, and Paul Grayson was proof of what happened to traitors.

If she turned now, she would be hunted, another Grayson herself. She could never stay in one place long enough to complete the Lazarus implants. John couldn't really prove anything. She would be back on the street within a week. But if Aria was coming, if Walker and North really were harvesting civilians right under Oleg's nose, then she and John were the only ones who could stop it. She could save Oleg from what was to come, and if Fate was kind, she might even get to keep him when this was all over. All she had to do was risk her freedom, her life, and everything she had worked for first._ The things I do for love…_

"Let's discuss the terms of my ' defection,' shall we?"

* * *

The extensive surveillance system Oleg had installed throughout Omega was both a blessing and a curse. It meant that he could keep an eye on North and his augmented soldiers without risking himself in battle. But it also meant watching the troops as they worked. The augmented were relentless and as they mowed down Talons that had been raiding a supply depot just minutes earlier. A turian took a shotgun blast to the face and crumpled in a heap. It was a moment before Oleg realized he wasn't dead. He stirred feebly, moaning something Oleg couldn't understand. North drew his sidearm and shot him twice more without a word.

Oleg paled. Attacking those who were hors de combat was becoming increasingly common among the augmented soldiers, but said soldiers were the only ones getting results in the increasingly frequent and brutal engagement with the Talons. So Oleg tolerated their flouting of the laws of war. Ugly business, but better than sending another condolence letter. Miranda might have found another way, as she had steered him away from oppressing the civilians, but she was on Horizon or the Citadel, the wealthy, powerful exemplar of the best in humanity of the she was always meant to be. She didn't belong in the muck and mire of Omega any more than she had twenty years ago.

Hawthorne paged him. "Omega Control calling General Petrovsky. We have a craft seeking permission to land. MSV _Geronimo._ Never seen her before, but the IFF checks out."

"Wave them off. The station is not accepting any landings until the Talon situation is resolved."

A few seconds passed, but when his comm crackled to life again, it wasn't Hawthorne who spoke. "Until the Talon situation is resolved?" Miranda said. "Do you expect me to wait forever?"

"My dear?" Tears threatened to swallow his voice. Was Providence at last showing him some kindness, sending her back to him the moment he wished for her? "What are you doing here?"

The teasing tone vanished. "That's something we should discuss in person."

He hurried to the docking bay as quickly as the shielded car would permit. His thoughts crashed into each other. Miranda had been returned to him, but there was no word from the Illusive Man that she had been permitted to return. And she had sounded so serious. What could have happened to send her flying back here with no notice? Was she the harbinger of some invasion? Had she heard rumors of Aria's movements and come to warn him for the sake of whatever affection she had for him?

He was being foolish. Probably her return had nothing to do with him at all._ But does it matter? She's here for you to hold once more. Be grateful for however long you've been given._

Fifteen minutes later, he stood in the docking bay watching as Miranda hobbled down the gangplank. She wore a gray business suit instead of her uniform. As she came closer, he saw the telltale lines around her mouth and eyes that meant she had suffered a flareup recently. Patel and Matthews followed her down, wearing bemused expressions that suggested they didn't know why they were here either.

She stopped inches from him. The scent of vanilla, so subtle as to be almost imperceptible, wafted to his nostrils. He drank in the sight of her. The vein running across her temple, the ragged edges of her scars. So many small details that he had forgotten even in the short amount of time she had been gone. He glared at Matthews and Patel, suddenly wishing for nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow them whole. "Operative Lawson." By some miracle he kept his voice even.

"General Petrovsky." Her voice trembled as well. So many emotions in those two words if one knew how to look. Exhaustion. Pleasure. And fear. He stiffened. There was a story told by children in Shanxi of a ghost that haunted the first Governor's Residence: a young woman who had once been beautiful but had been scarred and murdered on her wedding day. Any who saw her were doomed to die within the year. It was only a story, of course, but it was as if the ghost had been given flesh and form. Miranda looked at Matthews and Patel. "Start bringing the adjutants out of cryo. I hope we won't need them, but we can't be too careful."

Oleg stared at her. "You brought the adjutants back? What's going on?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she took his hands in hers and brought them to her lips. She kissed his fingers, not with abandon, but slowly, taking her time with him. Each press of her lips was like a brand. "I should have been more cautious. But I wanted to believe we were doing good, so I turned a blind eye." She looked at him. "I think the Illusive Man has gone mad. Maybe he's indoctrinated. I'm not sure. And I think he ordered North and Walker to commit war crimes."

Oleg dropped her hands and stepped back. "Mad? His mind can be labyrinthine, certainly. I don't always agree, but he has our best interests at heart. And I would know if North and Walker were up to anything." This station was his domain, his responsibility. North had bent the laws of war, but only in the ways that Oleg had lent his tacit approval. And the sick pallor that Miranda wore suggested something far worse than executing downed soldiers.

"Then explain this." She pressed a button on her omni-tool. Oleg listened in silence as a recording of the Illusive Man and Walker discussed harvesting the entire station. A cold, sick feeling wormed its way into his gut. He could almost believe such of Walker, with his blithe indifference to even basic safety protocols, but never of the Illusive Man.

"That makes no sense." His voice felt hollow. "We can barely hold the station now. If word got out about death on an industrial scale, Omegans would fight to the last man to prevent it." Exactly as the Talons were doing now. He pushed the thought away. "In any case, Cerberus is supposed to protect humanity, not slaughter it. That recording must be a fabrication. Where did you get it?"

"From the Alliance, of course," North drawled. His armor was still scarred and bloodstained. He must've come directly from the supply depot. "Lawson here turned traitor and got a sweetheart deal if she would bring you back with her." He smirked. "Did you think we would pass up the chance to bug Anderson's apartment? Never know who he might let use it. We know all about your little chat with Shepard."

Miranda stood impassively, but Oleg recoiled as if he had been slapped. He had instilled his faith in advancing humanity into Miranda. She would never betray that. "Get out before I'm forced to do something I regret."

"Oh, but it's true, isn't it?"

Miranda glared at him. "If our plan involves killing millions of people who are supposed to be under our protection, then any alternative starts to look better. Even trusting in the Crucible. Your way is no better than the Reapers." There was no waiver in her voice, none of the guilt or shame a traitor ought to be feeling.

"You see?" North said with a laugh. "She doesn't even try to hide it. I have orders from the Illusive Man himself to put her down. Leave, Petrovsky. You don't need to see this, and I'd rather not risk you getting caught in the crossfire."

Miranda pulled out her own gun, and time seemed to slow. Time enough for Oleg to consider everything. Miranda had turned on Cerberus, and protocol was very clear on what to do with traitors. However the Alliance had seduced her, the Illusive Man was the only one who could stop the Reapers and secure humanity's continued survival. The Crucible was a fool's hope, magic by another name.

And yet…to murder her? No attempt to reason, no consideration that they only had the gifts of Avernus because of her sacrifice? She was no common thug like Grayson. And…and he loved her. A world where he stood by and watched her die was not one worth saving. "I can't let you do that."

"You're obstructing a lawful order. The Illusive Man will mount your head alongside hers."

"Then let him come and take it."

Miranda fired twice. North's shields absorbed them with a momentary blue flash. North drew his monomolecular blade and dove for Oleg. Oleg twisted out of the way at the last moment, and North lunged at nothing but air. Think. He had to think. It had been years since he'd had to fight hand-to-hand, and North was both armored and augmented, but Oleg had the advantage of size. If he didn't let North get in close, perhaps he stood a chance.

"Bloody hell," Miranda muttered. "Please, kill Major North."

The adjutant lunged down the gangplank and made for North's throat. North went sailing backwards and hit the ground with a loud crack. The adjutant was on him. North slashed feebly at the creature, but its spindly claws beat the blade back. "Clever," North sputtered. "Not enough. Adjutant, attack!"

A second, nearly identical shape lunged from the darkness. Oleg's eyes widened. North could command adjutants as well? What other secrets had he been keeping? He stood frozen as the two mindless beasts grappled with each other. North hauled himself to his feet. Oleg took an inventory of his options. He was unarmed, and Miranda's sidearm had precious little stopping power. The adjutants canceled each other out. Patel and Matthews would emerge at any moment, but they were likewise poorly armed.

"This is North. Requesting backup. Petrovsky and Lawson have gone rogue. "

That was enough to tip the balance. A tactical retreat was called for. Miranda seemed to have the same idea. She took something from her pocket and threw it to the ground. Black smoke billowed through the air. He felt her hand find his. "Make for the service elevator. It'll lead you to the mining tunnels." She whispered. "Patel and Matthews will come as soon as they can."

"I won't leave without you."

"I can't run."

"But I can." He scooped her in his arms and prayed he wasn't hurting her. Her breathing was harsh and ragged, but she didn't protest. He carried her the few dozen meters to the service elevator and breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut behind them with a _clang. _He set her gently on the floor. His hands shook. The events of the last few minutes hit him like a Thanix missile. Either he had gone rogue or North had. For thirty years, Cerberus had been his life and the Illusive Man's vision of human advancement had been his. And he had thrown that away like trash because Miranda was in danger. Now North was trying to kill him.

His knees gave way under him and he sank to the floor. What had he done? What was he going to do now?

Warm fingers touched his knee. "Thank you," Miranda murmured.

"I couldn't let him hurt you. Not even for Cerberus." He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. "Are you hurt?"

"I've been worse." She winced. "I've been better, too."

North's voice, filtered by the station-wide broadcast system, cut through the air. "Attention, citizens of Omega! Oleg Petrovsky and Miranda Lawson have committed treason against Cerberus. I am taking emergency command of this station and declaring them a danger to Omega. They are to be shot on sight. Anyone bringing information leading to their capture will be rewarded. Those caught harboring them will share their fate."

"So this is what it was like for Kandros," Miranda muttered. "I don't suppose I could talk you into pardoning her, seeing as she's not completely insane, unlike some people."

He laughed despite himself. It felt good to laugh. "I missed you, my dear. So very much."

Her eyes narrowed. "We have to get you off this station. I don't know how many people North has behind him, but I was banking on being able to use the adjutants if it came to violence. I thought I would have time before the Illusive Man sent assassins after me. Presumptuous on my part."

He shook his head. "At least you had some inkling that there would be assassins. But I can't abandon this station. I don't know if your accusations regarding the Illusive Man are true, but North is exactly the wrong sort of leader for Omega. Too prone to violence and extreme solutions. The civilians would suffer immeasurably." He took a deep breath. "And I assumed responsibility for them the day I drove Aria away."

"You stubborn, idealistic, idiot," Miranda said, but without real rancor. "I'm not sure how much help I can be. My cane is up there."

His mind whirred. The old Phoenix armor came with a combination combat/medical exoskeleton. It might allow for Miranda to have some mobility. They had been phased out when Project Dragoon came online, but there were a few suits kept in storage at various outposts in case they were needed. "I can get you something better than a cane. Until then, lean on me. We'll get through this."

"So confident."

"No, not confident. Simply sick of seeing people I love die."

The elevator came to a stop, and Oleg pulled her up as gently as he could. The tunnels were a warren of twisting paths covered in eezo dust. Here and there, the walkways had been broken up, and Miranda was forced to lean on him increasingly heavily as they walled. Her steps were slow and careful, like a child's when she should have been running and climbing to safety.

Miranda tensed. "Do you hear that?"

He did. Footsteps. Heavy, as if armored. And heading straight for them. He swore under his breath. The good commander didn't depend on fate, but he would have given his right arm for things to go well for them, at least until they had retrieved the armor.

"Lawson? Petrovsky? It's Hadley." He stepped into the light. "What's going on? North has completely lost his mind. Saying you're traitors."

"I don't know—" Oleg started to say, but Miranda beat him to the punch. "Indoctrination, it looks like. Or simple Cerberus madness."

Hadley took another step forward. "So you're fighting him?"

"For the moment."

Hadley drew his pistol with shaking hands. "Sorry… I...have…orders…" Every synthesized syllable sounded as if it had been ripped from his throat. Oleg could only watch in disbelief as his finger gripped the trigger.

He never fired. A flash of light arced through the air and struck Hadley in the neck. He crumpled to the ground, the shaft of an omni-arrow protruding from his armor. Oleg pulled Miranda to him and stared blankly at the dead man. Hadley? Of all the people follow North. He had believed in human advancement without xenophobia, and he had been grateful to Oleg for giving him a place to stay when he had initially refused the augmentations.

A sick feeling clawed its way into his gut. He had only approved the implants because Hadley had asked for them. North had become more aggressive after he had received implants. Suppose there was something to Miranda's claims? This was Reaper technology they were dealing with. It had the power to hurtle ships across the galaxy in a moment or make a man faster and stronger than Nature allowed, but it could also break the mind. As Grayson had been broken. He swallowed._ As the Illusive Man might be broken?_

Miranda seized his shoulder, half for support and have to comfort. "We'll mourn him later." She stared down at the arrow shaft. "We need to find that sniper. Who the hell uses a bow anymore?"

"We do," came another voice. "It's quieter and cheaper to manufacture. And there's another arrow trained on your heart. Stay where you are."

He obeyed. "Kandros? Show yourself. We're unarmed except for a pathetic civilian popgun."

"No, thank you. It wouldn't be the first time you lied to me, General. Though your friend is right. It seems Cerberus has gone mad. Your subordinate deposes you the way you deposed Aria."

"Spare me your gloating." He sighed. "What do you want?"

"For the moment, to save you from being murdered. And to know why a trooper you had been so friendly with is trying to kill you."

"I think I might know," Miranda murmured. "Since we can't move without being turned into pincushions, get one of your people down here and remove his helmet.

Silence. Finally, a batarian emerged from the shadows and, keeping his gun trained on them, knelt to unfasten Hadley's helmet. Oleg blanched. The thing—he refused to think of it as Hadley—looked scarcely human in death. The skin was too ashen for one so recently dead. Silver streaks cut through his flesh like knife wounds. And where there should have been brown eyes, there was only an unseeing field of blue the same color as the adjutants'. "A husk."

"Half-husk," Kandros said. "Kind of hybrid, as best we can tell, though they only look like it once they die. You should know all about that, considering the atrocities your men are committing in that camp! There were children there."

"Camp? The only camps I authorized were the detention centers your men were forever breaking out of. And the laws of war would prevent me from detaining anyone under the age of fifteen." He jerked his head toward the husk. "I only authorized this sort of thing to be done to corpses. To mutate a sentient being in this way would be monstrous."

The batarian stared at him "I don't think he's lying, boss."

"He isn't," Miranda said, peering up into the darkness. "I propose an alliance. Not every Cerberus trooper on this station has been implanted, and some still remember where their loyalties lie. Whatever you think of the general, he's much better than North. You know where I draw the line, and it's long before Dr. Walker does." They didn't answer, and Miranda continued on. "You want the civilians of Omega safe? So do we. What the Illusive Man has allowed here has to end."

Kandros laughed. "I see you picked up some of Shepard's speechmaking ability. And we need all the help we can get. But that doesn't mean I'm a fool. Brax, prep them to be taken back to the base."

"Yes, boss." He smiled at Petrovsky. "This won't hurt much." And, with that, he jabbed something cold into Oleg's neck. Oleg didn't even have time to open his mouth before blackness consumed him.

He woke sometime later feeling as if someone had driven an omni-blade through his skull. He sat up gingerly, but the room didn't spin. He chose to take that as a good sign. He was in some sort of dormitory, though it was empty. Cold overtook him. "Miranda? Are you here?"

"Just finishing suiting up." She walked through the door. The Phoenix armor was black and gold, and whether through accident or design, the Cerberus symbol had been scratched. Miranda seemed fascinated with the energy emitters in the gauntlets, letting out a beam of white light that whipped through the air. He had laughed when the techs had first demonstrated it—until it had decapitated the practice dummy. "The Talons stole one a few days after I left, and were kind enough to let me borrow it under the circumstances." She smirked. "Of course, the fact that I metabolized their neurotoxin in half the expected time might have had something to do with it." She held out a hand to him. "Kandros is waiting for us in the briefing room."

The briefing room was enormous. Innumerable screens dominated one wall. He recognized schematics for several of the detention camps on some of the screens while grainy security footage of outposts played on others. No wonder the Talons had always seemed to know when and where to strike. Dozens of soldiers in red, blue, and gold armor hurried from place to place. Some stared at him in disbelief, others with naked hatred.

Kandros stood above them on a walkway. "General Petrovsky. Operative Lawson. Welcome to the Talon headquarters. I apologize for the secrecy, but it was necessary." Her mouth distorted into what passed for a frown on a turian. "The Cerberus forces under North have locked down the station. They're arresting 'collaborators' as fast as they can, probably shipping them off to be turned into adjutants. Some Cerberus outposts are fighting back, especially in what you call Beta Sector, but it's disorganized. North has holed himself up in Afterlife, and our recon suggests that the tunnels are mined."

Oleg stroked his beard and shoved his shock and doubt into the little box where he kept all of his emotions on the battlefield. He was not a man, but a general with the tactical challenge to overcome. "We need access to the Green Zone. All our operations and security systems are run through Afterlife. If we can dislodge them, we can blind and cripple this coup. Rally the Cerberus troops who are still loyal."

"Except we'd never be able to take the club in a head-on assault," Miranda said. "There are, what, five thousand of you? There were thirty thousand of us? If even half that number have gone over to North, you'll be slaughtered. A guerrilla war is one thing, but you can't sneak attack Afterlife."

"Then we don't attack them head on. Most sieges were won by starving the defenders out. So, we besiege them."

"Except you made the station self-sufficient, remember?"

"I wasn't suggesting starving them. We need something more immediate. I assume you have a map of the station's power grid?" A holographic map of the station, swathed in blue and purple lights, appeared. "If we could cut the power to the Green Zone's life-support, the defenders would be dead in minutes with very few civilian casualties. We could waltz into Afterlife and Omega Control. Operative Lawson could have her private security force here within days, and we could mop up the remainder at our leisure."

Kandros' mandibles flared. "You would do that to your own men?"

He bowed his head. The image of Hadley as he had been—eager for nothing more than to save men like his brother-in-law-was as sharp as life. "Either they're implanted and husks already, or they're cowards who betrayed their posts. I treated you with honor because you were honorable. But I fight my campaigns to win them. I would have dismantled Omega if Aria had not withdrawn. So, yes, I'll gladly let them asphyxiate if it saves the lives of what remains of my men."

Nyreen shook her head. "Except you would kill civilians. When you first put the barriers up, we studied the possibility of infiltrating the reactor and killing the power. Everything on this station is connected to something else. You'd need a quarian or a geth to power it down without killing thousands."

Damn her. Kandros was right. They might eventually be able to power down the reactor without killing anyone, but the attempt would be detected long before they succeeded, and any commander of competence would send a force to disrupt the attempt. "What we would need is something that would affect only North's forces." A memory flickered. He turned to Miranda. "Didn't you say that you had developed a toxin that could disable Reaper forces for days at a time? If we could insert it into the master environmental control unit at Afterlife, we could disable the bulk of North's forces with one blow."

Miranda's lips thinned. "Too risky. I'm not even certain it works on integrated forces."

"It's better than risking civilians," Kandros said. "I vote we find this toxin."

Miranda cast her eyes to heaven. "Next you'll be telling me that you want to awaken a krogan in a confined space. The toxin is in the labs, and we can take a tram from there to Afterlife and bypass the energy fields. But how would we get to the labs in the first place? There's still those energy fields."

Oleg stroked his beard. The only thing they had that bypassed the energy fields was…the trucks. "Don't worry about that, my dear. I have a plan."

* * *

_One more chapter to go. Like all stories, Pawn changed a lot from the initial idea. Would you guys like to know some of the things that were cut or changed?_


	13. Chapter 13

The people of Omega did not go quietly. Gunfire filled the streets of the Beta District as the convoy containing the captured civilians rolled down the street. A great mass of humanity surged forward to press down on the soldiers. Knives, rocks, old Mattocks, seemingly every weapon Miranda and Oleg had been unable to confiscate—the civilians used them all. Soldiers fired into the crowd, but the mob seemed beyond panic.

"Poor bastards are going to get slaughtered," Miranda muttered. "You'd need explosives to do any real damage."

"Thank God they don't have them." Oleg's gaze never left the security footage. "We need that truck. On my signal, out of the tunnels. Miranda and the adjutants are our heavy hitters. The rest of you, concentrate on commandeering that truck. A little damage is acceptable, but we need it working at all costs." He frowned. "Secondary objective is the liberation and protection of any civilians. I won't tolerate any stupidity that puts them in danger. Do I make myself clear?"

"You don't need to tell us that, Cerberus," said a turian. "Your own people, on the other hand…"

Oleg sighed. "For today, there is no 'my people,' Mr. Sidonis. Everyone here wants to see these miscreants stopped."

A dark-haired boy rushed out in front of the trunks and pelted the windows with a fist full of rocks. "Get out, you Cerberus bastards," he screamed. Miranda realized with a shock that it was Peter. "You killed my mom and dad!"

_Get out of there. All of you, just get out._ But they didn't. Peter kept throwing rocks, the mob kept attacking, and the soldiers kept shooting.

Oleg's eyes narrowed. He recognized Peter as well. "Ready." He squeezed Miranda shoulder. "Now!"

The Talons surged from the tunnels into the streets with war cries and gunfire of their own. Miranda was more subdued: a whispered "please, follow me" as she climbed the ladder. It was strange to be climbing anything after so long. The armor let her lumber about like an Atlas with an overactive eezo core. The pain was there, as it always was. At least she could be useful instead of waiting back at base like a damsel in distress. The streets themselves were choked with the smells of blood and sweat. Scrap metal littered the ground.

"Out of the way, kid," one of North's soldiers said, desperation turning his voice almost human again. "This isn't your fight."

"You took mom and dad. You took my uncle. I'm not scared of you."

"Whatever you say." He aimed his rifle.

_No. No more._ "Please, attack." The four adjutants left sprang into action. It was the soldiers' turn to scream as they were shredded with claws and teeth. Miranda directed her charges as a conductor led an orchestra: with precision, certainly, and an awareness of what she wanted. The soldiers turned fire from the crowd to the adjutants, but it had no more effect than mosquitos had on rabid wolves. The crowd, even Peter, froze uncertain. Sidonis and his archers felled the Cerberus platoon's right flank as Matthews and the remnants of Lazarus Cell made for the truck.

It was over in ten minutes. The bodies of the Cerberus troops lay mixed with the bodies of the civilians. Her adjutants stood triumphant, their sacs flecked with a dark red. What was left of the civilians watched her with a mix of awe and horror. There were no cheers. Of course there wouldn't be. They might hope for rescue, but that rescue should have been clad in gleaming red and gold armor, not the very monsters that had slaughtered them a few months prior.

A small hand gripped her gauntlet. Peter. "Those are the things that killed my parents. But they do what you say." He swallowed. "You didn't—you didn't kill anybody?"

"Just the ones you saw." How did you explain something like this to a child? "I made them good so that they would only hurt bad people."

"Like the ones that took Uncle Matt?"

"Exactly," Oleg said as he came up behind her. "Where is your uncle? In the truck?" Peter nodded, and Oleg gestured at Matthews. "Get the civilians out of there."

Matthews readied his omni-tool and broke the locks on the truck. The captured civilians stood shoulder to shoulder. An assortment of every species on Omega had been packed together like sardines for Walker's use: asari, batarian, salarian. And yes, human. Cold anger swept through her. It wasn't enough for them to experiment on civilians. No, they had to experiment on the very species Cerberus was supposed to protect. Just like Teltin and Akuze. Was this what Cerberus truly was? An organization that existed to brutalize humans and aliens alike in pursuit of a greater good that somehow never materialized? They had used her skill and dedication to pursue those ends while patting her on the head and assuring her that she was a hero. Used her, as they had used Oleg.

None of them move. "You're free," Oleg said. "We can't stay to give you the supplies you need, but if you can make it to one of the clinics—"

"Why should we believe you?" an asari in a high, quavering voice. "The symbol might be scratched, but I know Cerberus armor when I see it. And you've got adjutants!"

Sidonis strode forward. "Then believe me. You recognize this armor too, don't you?" He shot Oleg a sideways glance. "We've all got to work together if we want to throw these bastards off the station. You never would have left the labs alive if this truck had made it to its destination. You've heard the rumors of what Cerberus does. I'll work with anybody that will stop that, even if they left Cerberus five minutes ago."

"Listen to him," came Matt's voice from somewhere at the back of the truck. He pressed his way through the throng until Miranda could see him. He was pale and his auburn hair was plastered to his scalp, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. "I lost family to those creatures too, but the woman controlling them saved my nephew. I'll trust these people for now."

"Uncle Matt," Peter dashed forward and enveloped his uncle in as big a hug as an eight-year-old boy could muster. Soon the captured were pouring out of the truck and into the streets amid the laughter and tears of reunion. Miranda slipped into the cab with a sad smile. They would be bodies to bury and lives to rebuild, but that had never been her work. Always the next crisis, the next challenge.

Oleg slipped into the seat beside her a few minutes later. He had exchanged his normal white armor for gray Centurion garb. He stared at the helmet in his hands, but his eyes were distant and unfocused, as if the ghosts of Armistice Day had come again. Miranda placed a hand on his shoulder. "We'll get it done. If Walker is doing everything Kandros says he is, then he's a threat to humanity. And our job has always been to take down threats to humanity. We don't fail."

"No, you don't fail. I provided North with the fodder for his army. And it seems I may have done worse than that in permitting Walker stay on after you left. Desperation has made me very foolish. And if it weren't for you, it could have been much worse. God only knows what atrocities I would have permitted if you and Patriarch hadn't checked me."

Miranda shook her head. "That exasperating honor of yours would've prevented you from doing anything too terrible," she said with a smile.

His expression didn't change. "Really? If not for you, Walker would have been head scientist. I never would have met Patriarch, which means my attempts to pacify Omega would have been even more disastrous than they are. And it was so tempting when North talked about his police state. There's a universe where I would have listened to him, I'm sure, and told myself I was doing it for the greater good."

She squeezed his shoulder. "But it's not the universe we're living in. That's what matters. I almost jammed a control chip into John's skull. I didn't. Thanks to the Illusive Man, ironically enough. It's stupid to worry about what might have happened."

"Perhaps you're right, my dear." Oleg didn't sound convinced. He put on the helmet. The transmitter transformed his voice into a mechanical growl. "This is Able Company. We had Talons attempt to take the cargo. They were repulsed, but we suffered casualties. Be advised that Lawson and adjutants likely withdrew to the Gozu District. Permission to return to base to deliver cargo?"

"Permission granted."

He turned off the transmitter. "So it begins."

The truck rumbled through the district toward the wall of energy separating it from the Green Zone. The adjutants and those of the Talons and Petrovsky's men brave enough to ride with them stood sentinel in the back. Miranda stared out the window. The last three days had taken a toll. Pavement was broken. Street lights flickered and died. Miranda swallowed. The purification plant was once again a ruin of twisted metal. Her gut twisted. Their months of improvements, swept away by a pathetic bottom feeder like North.

The truck stopped a few hundred meters from the labs. A prefab unit with the word PROCESSING hastily stenciled on the side had been erected in her absence. A half-dozen trucks identical to the one they had commandeered stood in front. Miranda frowned. "So many. They can't have gotten the infrastructure for an operation of this scale ready in three days. How long has North been planning this coup?"

Oleg shrugged. "Since I permitted the implants? Before?" Some fire crept back into his voice. "But he'll answer for his war crimes, and I promise you."

The truck came to a stop. "Able Company, stand by for a security team to meet you and take charge of the cargo."

Miranda tensed. Seconds ticked by and there was only the scuffle of boots on the pavement outside. Then finally, the sound of the door being opened. "Hey, wait, those aren't pris—"

That would be her cue. "Please kill the Cerberus guards."

Miranda stumbled down from the truck in time to see the adjutants finish off the last of three guards. "Hurry. We have five minutes at the most before they declare a lock—"

Walker's voice came over the PA. "This facility has been compromised. Lockdown! Lockdown!"

Well, so much for that theory. Oleg turned to Sidonis. "Can you hack the door?"

He shook his head. "Negative. The encryption's too advanced. Of all things for Cerberus to be competent at, it had to be making locks."

Miranda resisted rolling her eyes. "Oh, we have our uses. Please, remove the door to the laboratory." The adjutants trooped to the door and pulled. Metal groaned and buckled as they yanked the door from its hinges, leaving a ragged hole like a gaping wound. "There, you see? Radio Kandros and notify her that we breached the perimeter. ETA to Afterlife is on track."

The laboratory had transformed. Where there had once been workstations and facilities to test the response of husks and adjutants to various chemicals, there were now dragon's teeth. Not merely the one or two she had kept to create the necessary samples, but an entire room of spikes that scraped the ceiling. She opened the nearest door. Row upon row of the transformation pods, just waiting for subjects. The anger returned, hotter this time, singeing her with every moment she spent staring at the empty pods. Walker had taken her work and industrialized it. And where there was industrialization, there was also an increased need for raw materials.

No, there would be time enough for anger later. She had a job to do. "The toxin was stored in our Biohazard Unit. Upper level, first door on your right."

"Husks, three o'clock!"

Miranda pivoted in time to see a mass of husks spill through the door. They jerked as they walked like marionettes controlled by a puppeteer who only remembered to move the strings at the last moment. They were slower than the husks she had fought on Horizon a year ago as well. The Talons felled them with a speed that would have made John envious.

Miranda narrowed her eyes. "Something's off about these husks. They should have been faster and more agile. And they don't look quite right."

Oleg frowned. "Walker could have taken your work and expanded it. Finally found a way to adapt the control process to something besides adjutants."

"Possible. But they still look different. What did he—" And then she knew. The floor opened up beneath her. Her muscles convulsed as bile rose in her throat. No. No. Even the Illusive Man wouldn't condone something like this. But the body didn't lie. "The proportions aren't those of adult humans. These are children. Twelve or thirteen at the most."

Sidonis knelt before one of the bodies. "Cerberus does this to kids? And he used stuff you were working on to do it? How the hell do you sleep at night?"

Miranda couldn't tear her eyes from the husk. The blue lights, devoid of either affection or terror, stared back at her. Nausea and disbelief gnawed at her mind. "This—I never did this. Just corpses. There was no _need_ for this. It's pointless cruelty."

"I'm sure that helps him."

Miranda turned away and closed her eyes. Anger hardened into something sharp and useful. She wasn't guilty, but responsible, just like Mordin. She had never shirked her responsibilities. "He's gone rogue. I don't care if the Illusive Man or whoever the bloody hell else authorized this, but this isn't Cerberus."

"What happens when somebody goes rogue?"

"I happen." She clenched and unclenched her fists. "Please, find Dr. Walker. Please, do not transform him, but please hurt him as much as you need."

The adjutants returned a few minutes later dragging Walker between them. His eyes were wild with terror and his hair was askew. Welts and slash marks covered his face. "Let me go, please let me go."

"Pathetic. But as you wish. Please, drop him." Walker fell to his knees with a grunt. Miranda loomed over him and picked him up by the scruff of the neck. The wretch was shivering, just as she was. "Scared? Good."

"Don't hurt me. I give up. I'm not even armed." He flailed, trying unsuccessfully to turn out his pockets. "And I—I can show you how I controlled the husks. Not even you can do that."

"Not interested. Anything you can show me is in your files. Children, Walker. North has Reaper tech jammed into his skull. What's your excuse?"

"They're better off like this. If they'd stayed like they were, we would've just had to protect them. Now we have weapons. Remove a liability and gain a soldier, just like the Reapers when they indoctrinate."

_Thank you for making this easy. _She put her hands around his throat and squeezed. Walker coughed and sputtered as Miranda increased the pressure. Shadows infested her mind. Peter lying in a hospital bed. An infant the same name lying in the casket. Children being thrown on spikes.

"You can't...do this…Petrovsky… I deserve mercy."

She could feel Oleg's gaze on her. His voice was ice. "What you deserve is to be thrown on those spikes. But, to my everlasting regret, there are laws of war that apply even to the likes of you." He touched her shoulder. "Stand down, Miranda. He's a prisoner. He'll get what he deserves, just not today and not like this."

"Right." Miranda exhaled sharply as the adrenaline crashed over her. She wouldn't give this little worm the satisfaction of shattering her control. "A prisoner of war, caught in the very act of war crimes. Which means he's going to have to be tried by a competent authority, one having intimate knowledge of the crime." She grabbed Walker and threw him at Sidonis. "He's yours to do with as you please."

"But they'll kill me."

Sidonis' eyes glittered. "After a trial. Everyone on Omega is going to know what you've done."

Miranda couldn't help but smile. "There's your mercy. I would have made you an adjutant." She turned her back to him. "Let's find the toxin and hit the tram."

* * *

The tram ground to a halt in Afterlife's sub-basement. "Our target is the control room. From there, we should be able to lower the force fields and allow Kandros' forces unrestricted access to the rest of the station as well as a release the nerve toxin into environmental control." Oleg clasped his hands behind his back. "Be cautious. If the laboratory was any indication, North has far more adjutants than we do. Once we disperse the toxin, they'll be neutralized along with the other Reaper units, so speed will be key. Good luck."

The men—Talon and Cerberus—nodded and gripped their guns. Sidonis looked Oleg up and down. "Spirits watch over us all."

Oleg walked her to the front of the tram. His gauntleted hand brushed against her own. Anxiety simmered just beneath the mask of confidence he wore. "Stay safe, my dear."

Miranda glanced around to make sure they were unobserved, and pressed her lips to his. "You'll be right there with me. We'll disable everything Reaper North has co-opted, kick him off Omega, deliver the Crucible data to the Alliance, and cross our fingers that they haven't gone completely insane." She forced a smile. "And when this war is over, you'll take a security posting in some colony and turn it into your city on a hill." She laughed, but tears felt as if they could overwhelm at any moment. "Who knows? You might even go into politics."

He cupped her cheek. "I was thinking of relocating to Horizon. The colonists went all that way to get away from the Alliance; it's unfair that they should have to choose between autonomy and safety."

"Horizon? Well, as long as Oriana and I are stuck—" Her brain processed what he was saying, and tears pricked her eyes. "I would like that very much."

"Even if I wanted to stay for a long time?"

Her smile grew bigger. "Henry's penthouse is far too large for me. I think I can find some room for you." She wiped her eyes. "Let's get it done."

The doors opened, and Oleg replaced his helmet. Miranda squared her shoulders. "Please follow me." The adjutants marched alongside her, and the rest of the troops followed behind.

The command center was chaos. Red and gold Talons surged against white and gold Cerberus. Neon lights lay shattered on the floor. North's adjutants dominated center of the room. One had a Cerberus soldier by the throat. He screamed as his armor was shredded like paper. Miranda fired once, twice, three times, into the sacs on the creature's back, but it didn't seem to notice. Its eyes locked with the soldier's as he caressed his face, the parody of a lover. _No. No. No. _She had only Oleg's description of the process of how the beasts reproduced—she had perceived transformation as both risky and unnecessary as long as the implants worked—but she recognized it. Two adjutants would be a disaster.

"Help me," he screamed.

Miranda's breath caught in her chest. Matthews. Miranda's eyes narrowed. Another of her men about to be lost to those creatures. Not this time. She had sacrificed her body to keep him safe. He wasn't going to die now, not because of a pathetic speck of nothing like North. "Please, engage the adjutants."

The adjutants bounded toward their brethren, and Matthews fell to the ground amid a sea of claws. He scampered toward the Talons. Oleg looked at her, and Miranda shrugged. "It's not as if they would all fit in environmental control. Come on."

Miranda had only seen the environmental control room on schematics. The reality was a high ceilinged, cold room where the sound of fans and whirring machinery drowned out the sound of her footsteps and the floor vibrated beneath her feet. Stale warm air washed over Miranda as her suit compensated for the cold. A catwalk high above ran the length of the room. Miranda glanced upward. Perfect place for an ambush. North knew she was here, and eliminating her would also take out the adjutants.

Orange flashed in the corner of her eye. An omni-tool. The warm air stopped as suddenly as it began. Miranda swore. The bastard had cut power to her suit. Pain slithered up her leg as she stumbled forward. Oleg's arm lashed out to catch her, and Miranda leaned on him in desperation. Her breath came in short gasps. The air filter was just a few steps away. A few more moments and this rebellion would be over. She couldn't let the pain stop her. One foot in front of the other, that was all she had to do.

"Still trying to walk?" North asked as he emerged from the shadows. "I give you points for bravery if nothing else. I can't figure out what you're doing here though. Figure you'd go for the power on the force fields. Drop your guns. Amp for you too, Lawson."

Oleg didn't move. "First rule of engagements. Never drop your gun."

North drew his blade. "Don't try to play hero, Petrovsky. Just drop your gun and the Illusive Man will make you see like he did for the rest of us. Lawson gets a quick, painless death, and it's all over. Or you try to fight me while protecting a cripple and you die horribly, then I reenact the death of a thousand cuts on Lawson. Your choice."

Miranda bit back a curse. She wasn't afraid, but to have it end like this, leaning against Oleg like an invalid while trying not to pass out from the pain? It was too much. They were so close to victory. Oleg could have reached the filter with a halfway decent dive. Of all the— Wait a moment. Miranda bit back a smile. "Do as he says, Oleg," she said as she threw her gun to the ground. _Please_.

Surprise flickered across his face, but Oleg did as she asked. She could see the anxiety in his eyes, the hope that whatever plan she had would pay off.

Miranda abandoned any attempt to keep the pain out of her voice. The truth would be most effective. "Please, love, help me with the amp. I don't trust myself to do it."

_Love? _Oleg mouthed, but pulled her more tightly against him, as his free hand moved to the back of her neck. Miranda unhooked the vial containing the toxin and pressed it into his hand out of North's sight. Oleg's fingers curled around the vial. One…two…

Three! She sent a biotic blast squarely at North's chest. He rocketed backwards as a shot from his palm went wild and hit the ceiling. Oleg jumped backwards and ran for the air filter. The pain crawled through Miranda and filled her mind. She crumpled to the ground.

North hauled himself to his feet. His lip was bleeding. "I don't know what the hell you think you're doing, but—"

"Initializing," said a mechanical female voice. Green vapor wafted through the room. North froze and sank to his knees. Blue slashes patterned like some demented erupted on his face as his eyes began to glow. His mouth twisted into a snarl as he waved his sword feebly. Finally, he fell over as if he were a heavy stone someone had pushed to the ground.

Oleg fired into his head. "You deserved better than this."

Her comm hissed. "This is Nyreen. Reaper forces are shutting down. Some Cerberus resistance, but nothing we can't handle. Lawson did it."

That was the last thing Miranda heard before she passed out.

* * *

The next forty-eight hours passed in a blur. There were so many dead to bury. The battle had wrecked the command center and much of the Green Zone. Oleg ducked to avoid exposed wiring as he stepped into the laboratory. Tables had been overturned and drawers ransacked. A few Talons were attempting to clean up the mess. Oleg ignored them. They moved more or less freely through the Green Zone since North's death. Oleg wasn't inclined to stop them. They had seen the worst of it already, and if they wanted to know more about the horrors that had occurred here, he wasn't going to deny them. He had more pressing business.

Miranda's old office, lately Walker's, had escaped the devastation except for a few drops of blood on the desk. The adjutants' work, no doubt. Oleg pressed a button, and the logs began to play.

_Walker's eyes were fever-bright, a mockery of the enthusiasm that transformed Miranda from beautiful to irresistible. "We've done it, sir. The husks are responding to the implants for up to a week at a time if they start out as live subjects, five days if they begin as corpses."_

_The Illusive Man smiled. "Excellent work. I want you to expand your trials. With our recent setbacks, we need shock troops as fast as possible."_

_"Petrovsky would never let us work openly."_

_"Major North will handle that. Miranda Lawson has gone rogue, and our intel suggests she's returning to the station in an attempt to turn the general. I doubt he'll allow us to execute his lover, but it will provide an excuse for North to take over. Prep your teams to move back to the main laboratory immediately."_

Oleg switched the log off and sank into the nearest chair. Miranda had been right. The Illusive Man had ordered the atrocities Oleg had seen here. The children thrown on spikes, the detentions, the murders. He buried his face in his hands. The Talons were securing the laboratory in the tunnels at this very moment, but he had heard the description. People packed like cattle, husbands turned into adjutants and forced to kill their wives. Such things sometimes happened: at Dachau or Nanking or a batarian slaver camp. Degrading the victim had been precisely the point. What had been the point of all this?

And he had helped them. Spent the blood of good men like Rolston so the Illusive Man could have his army and let men like Hadley be implanted with Reaper tech—with predictable results—because the Talons were nipping at his heels. He had abandoned his principles in the face of difficulty. Worse than not having principles in the first place.

"Sidonis said I might find you here."

Oleg turned his head. Miranda had traded her armor for a gray and white jacket. Patel had retrieved a spare cane from the _Geronimo_, and Miranda leaned heavily on it. "Beta Sector has sustained significant damage. As best we can tell, one third of the area doesn't have any power, and infrastructure is a mess. The Talons and some of the men are handing out supplies, but it's slow going."

"Casualties?"

"Five hundred and counting there. It will be a while before we have a full accounting of civilian casualties." She inhaled. "We're down to ten thousand men. Most of the losses appear to be North's implanted. The Talons have been hunting them down. Got most of them before the toxin wore off, but some of them are taking refuge in the tunnels."

Two thirds of his men either dead or lost to the Reapers. Ten thousand men to hold a station of nearly eight million people. Possible—if he was willing to become just as brutal as North. "Kandros will find them. The tunnels are her second home." Shame shattered the mask of professionalism. "What have I done? What happened here is monstrous."

"And not our fault. It was Walker's fault, and North's fault." Her eyes narrowed, and her voice was cold. "Don't forget the Illusive Man." She gestured at the log. "Whatever doubts I had before, he's no longer working for humanity."

"And we helped him. How many adjutants is he going to be able to field because of our work? How many hundreds of thousands of people died because I carried out his orders to take this station?"

"Far too many." Her gaze dropped to the floor, and her voice was soft. "Do you remember what you told me after my first command? I was ready to throw myself into a suicide charge after the batarians captured my men."

"And I told you that you atoned for your mistakes by fixing them, not getting yourself killed."

"I propose we fix ours."

"How?" He closed his eyes. Images of the ruined purification plant and the debris littering the streets swam up to him. All his painstaking work to build Omega, to make it safe for children like Peter, dashed on the rocks in a matter of days. "How long do you think it'll be before a mob arrives at our door demanding the head of anyone involved with Cerberus? Perhaps I even deserve it. I knew that Walker was unethical. You were the only thing holding him in check. I dismissed a technician for sabotaging a food dispenser. But I kept him on staff? Kandros should take my head."

"It's not your head I want," Kandros said as she walked through the door. "As for the mob, the Talons who aren't tracking down the Cerberus remnant are doing their best to prevent a riot from breaking out. So far so good, but it's like waiting for a match to fall on dry wood. We're not equipped for containment."

He thought. He could send his troops out into the streets to help her, supplant her. He and Miranda could rule over Omega under their own authority. The Citadel of the Terminus could still exist. All he had to do was cordon off more districts, stop the trade routes to Lorek, and mass-produce Ramparts to replace his lost men. Omegans would call him a tyrant, but they did that already. It would be for their good.

_Just as the Illusive Man is acting for the good of humanity? _"Nonlethal weapons are in the armory. Code for the lock is 0451."

Her eyes widened. "You're being very helpful."

He forced a smile he didn't feel. "Due to the changes in circumstance, I consider my orders to hold this station no longer valid. I only ask that you permit us an orderly withdrawal." He glanced at Miranda. "I'm rather fond of the chess set I acquired here, and I'd like to take it with me instead of leaving it behind while I run for my life."

Kandros stared at him for a long moment. "I can give you three days. Anyone found on this station beyond that time will be considered an unlawful combatant."

Three days. Much of the supplies would have to be left behind, but he could evacuate his men on _Elbrus _if he were quick. "I suppose you might be able to find some use for the mechs."

"I can." She paused, uncertain. "There are rumors that Aria is moving again. She could be here in as little as four days. I came to tell you. She _will _want your head."

Miranda went pale beside him, and Oleg felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. Not for himself, or even for him Miranda. They could be off the station within a day. People like Peter and his uncle wouldn't be so fortunate. The Pirate Queen would return and establish her stranglehold on Omega. Drug runners would ply their trade among the desperate in back alleys. Gangs would demand protection money from any unfortunate enough to live under their domain. Seventeen-year-old girls would be desperate enough to sell themselves to escape while ardat-yakshi found fertile hunting grounds. "I didn't change anything, did I? It's all going to go back like it was."

"Possibly," Kandros said. "But the Talons won't let that happen without a fight. They were ruthless before, but I think some of them like being the hero. Sidonis especially. We'll fight anyone who tries to put civilians under their thumb, whether they wear a Cerberus uniform or not." Her mouth distorted into what the turians called a smile. "So I suppose you did change something."

"By playing the tyrant," he muttered. "I should get to packing."

Miranda followed him. The halls of the command center were nearly deserted as they walked. Soon Afterlife might be a haven for flesh shows and all manner of vice. He should enjoy the peace while it lasted. But his thoughts kept knocking together.

"Oleg?" Miranda said. "Don't you want to hear the Alliance's terms?"

He shrugged. "I tell everything I know about the Illusive Man's plans and am treated as a prisoner of war instead of a traitor. From what I understand, it's quite a comfortable life. I might write my memoirs if we survive this."

Miranda's eyes glittered as her face broke into the first genuine smile he'd seen since her return. "Oh no. You don't think I'd let them waste you on intel, do you? The Alliance wants to take Cerberus out the game for good. That means an attack on Cronos. Unfortunately, all their plans boil down to elaborate versions of 'get slaughtered.' I told them that it was a good thing my lover is a tactical genius."

"Your lover?" he asked absently. An attack on Cronos would have to be both daring and clever. Finding something that worked, putting an end to the Illusive Man's machinations, that might begin to make up for children turned into husks. Someday.

"Yes. Lover. Doesn't seem like quite the right word considering I ran all the way back here more or less get you out. I think I overdid this affair."

A chuckle escaped his lips. It felt strange to laugh. "Neither of us ever did anything halfway. Maybe you'll find a better word later." The image of his class ring rolling on the floor flashed unbidden in his mind. Perhaps…perhaps he would ask her when this war was over, if they both lived. A little extra motive to keep fighting. Formalize staying on Horizon.

But for now, there was work. "This is how you take Cronos…"

They talked of the future long into the night.

* * *

_Ten years later_

"On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays it was Court Hand and Summulae Logicales, while the rest of the week it was the Organon, Repetition and Astrology. The governess was always getting muddled with her astrolabe, and when she got specially muddled she would take it out of the Wart by rapping his knuckles."

Jenny yawned. "This is boring. Skip to the part with the knights."

Oleg smiled. She was so anxious to gobble up the interesting and exciting, as if the stories might vanish into the air with no warning and leave her never knowing of knights or dragons or anything beyond Horizon. "We must begin at the beginning or it won't make any sense." He kissed her on the forehead. "But I can see you're tired. We can start the story another time."

She glared at him. Jenny had eyes the same shade of brown of his own, but the haughty, insistent glare was all Miranda. "I'm not sleepy."

"It is past your bedtime. Shame on your father," Miranda said as she walked into the room. The implants emitted a soft whir. Oleg turned to her. The scars were gone, repaired a year after the Crucible fired when it became clear that the Reapers weren't going to kill them all. "You need to sleep."

"Not sleepy."

Miranda thought for a moment. "If you go to sleep, I'll read you a story about dragons. Lots of fighting in that one."

Jenny peered at her. "Promise?"

"Promise." Miranda ruffled her hair. "Good night, Jenny."

"I got a call today," Miranda said when they had returned to their own room. "Governor Kandros wants me to expand Lawson Biomedical to Omega. Now that the university is up and running, she wants more high-tech jobs on this station. Naturally, I was her first choice."

"It would be a good fit." When he and Miranda had fled Omega to avoid another bloody war, Oleg had had no idea what the future held for Omega. The future turned out to be a weeklong standoff between Aria and her former lover that had seen Aria withdraw and wait for the day Kandros would either die or be overthrown and Aria would return in triumph. Kandros had been busy continuing his infrastructure improvements and inviting foreign investment, trusting her philosophy would outlive her. Oleg's money was on Kandros.

"I thought so. We can start groundbreaking as early as next year." She laughed. "Spend all that time trying to pacify Omega with an army and it turns out what they really needed were jobs."

"It worked the same way for the British after the Empire was dismantled. The colonies were far more profitable as equal trade partners."

Her eyes glittered. "Talking history is very, very attractive."

"Is that so? Should I give a lecture on the Peloponnesian War?"

She didn't answer out loud. Her hands ran over his chest as she smiled at him. Oleg shivered. Sometimes, he was certain that this was a dream and he would wake up to find himself in an Alliance prison or worse. He would always mourn Nikolai and Catherine, but having a chance to start another family seemed more than he deserved. To have finished the war with his honor intact instead of becoming a monster like Walker. To have the second great love of his life looking at him as if she planned to devour him.

"Come on, Herodotus. Let's go to bed."

* * *

_First, I'd like to think all of you for reading. And thank you for taking a chance on an unusual pairing. Thanks too to my wonderful beta themarshal who put up with my constant insecurities and believed I could pull this off. Flemm also provided additional editing. And to T.H White whose Once and Future King I shamelessly quoted._

_So, changes. There was originally much more focus on backstory, with flashbacks to Miranda's training as a Cerberus agent. I held off writing the prologue in a desperate attempt to finish the story. By the time I was ready to write them, I realized I didn't need them. The story also originally followed canon much more closely. Aria would invade and North (then named Adamle) would lure Miranda down to the tunnels and assassinate her, forcing Oleg to launch a rescue. But I strongly dislike Aria and didn't trust myself to be fair to her, considering my moral sensibilities made the thought of her regaining control revolting. I tried various scenarios before deciding to throw canon out._

_I can't tell you why exactly I disabled Miranda. Part of it is self-insert—I have cerebral palsy and I wanted a good disabled character that wasn't Joker. Part of it is that I wanted to use research that I had done for Portrait. And part of it was wanting to tweak "death by breakup" and do something interesting. That was actually something of a driving force for this story. A lot of the same basic things happen as in canon, but the players and results are different. So there was still a Sanctuary, but Henry hadn't had time to start processing people, Walker is the one who begs for his life, and so on. If this were the canon, Miranda would have bled out on the Sanctuary floor, Aria would have strangled Oleg, and Oleg himself would have sanctioned atrocities. But in this universe…well, you see._

_I thought for a long time this would be my last foray into ME fanfic. It may still be, but I'm kicking around a Shepard/Petrovsky fanfic set post-Destroy. Interested?_


End file.
